On the Shores of the Lethe
by darcysfriend
Summary: We've had stories of amnesia affecting either Mr. Darcy or Elizabeth … but what if, in surviving a harrowing carriage accident on the way to London, it was Mr. Bennet who experiences this condition? His last memory is that of being a second-time father holding his baby daughter Elizabeth. How does this change the events of Pride and Prejudice as we know it?
1. Those Eyes

**Author's note: "Lethe" is part of Greek mythology, one of the five rivers of Hades (along with the more famous one Styx). Lethe flowed around the Hypnos cave, and all who partook of its waters would experience complete forgetfulness. The word "lethe" itself means "forgetfulness" or "oblivion" in classical Greek.**

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><p><strong>ON THE SHORES OF THE LETHE<strong>

**Chapter One**

**"Those Eyes"**

With a groan, Rupert Bennet tossed his reading glasses onto his lap. That was the third ledger he had reviewed with his steward Mr. Blythe in just as many days, and he felt as though his head would now explode with things divulged about his estate. His assessment of prospects had gone from being optimally challenging to bleak – and now to downright dismal. Rupert pinched his nosebridge and said, "Leave me, Mr. Blythe. I need to ponder these revelations for now. Hopefully, tomorrow I would be able to think straight, and maybe these legs would not give me as much trouble as now."

Mr. Blythe nodded. He had planned to check on the drainage issue on the estate's eastern border, anyway. "Is there anything I can do for your present relief, sir, before I go?"

A sarcastic quip was at the tip of Mr. Bennet's tongue, but he was too tired and dejected to let loose. He simply responded with a soft "No," to which his steward bowed and exited. Left to his own, Mr. Bennet sought to adjust his position on his makeshift bed. Three days had he been confined to that contraption, since coming home from London._ Perhaps I should have taken up my host on his offer to stay at his home for the entirety of my recuperation!_ But even as he thought that, he knew that HOME was where he needed to be: he needed to reconnect with and regain his life. So amid protests, a transport was made for him to leave for Longbourn, Hertfordshire, ensuring all means for the comfort of a man with still-healing bones.

_This is not at all what I expected to find,_ Rupert Bennet muttered.

With a pang, he glanced again at the ledger. He threw the book across the room in a fit of pique, and cursed at the utter counter-productivity of the gesture. _I cannot retrieve that now,_ he sighed, rubbing on the dull ache in his legs. As he did so, he let his eyes roam over the many shelves of books, all brilliant works of literature, some even first edition copies. He felt an initial flush of pleasure at the impressive titles– but just as quickly, the pleasure turned to self-reproach. _How is it that the pinnacle of my accomplishments is amassing for my sole pleasure a good literary collection? Is that all there is?_

He almost missed the soft knock on the door. Bidding "Enter", he watched a young lady come in and approach him shyly. His daughter. She came each day to bring him his tea … but not today, it seemed. Rupert suddenly felt anxious. _Am I ready for this?_ Logic dictated that he knew her - but right now, all he saw was the countenance of a stranger. Lord, shed light …

"Papa," the young lady said with a sniff, but was unable to go on. She only looked at him with her soul in her eyes, begging for ... what?

Rupert locked his gaze on her as interminable moments ticked by. Then slowly he smiled, though with sadness, and he whispered, "Your eyes." She stood silent, her chest heaving with suppressed tears. Rupert continued softly, "As yet I know nothing else … but your eyes … I know your eyes." And with voice trembling with emotion, he breathed, "Hullo, my little Lizzy."

At that, the young girl slid to the floor next to him, sobbing as she planted many kisses on his hand.

* * *

><p><strong>Three weeks previous …<strong>

"Please, sir, do not move. You were in an accident, please allow us to help you. Sarah, call Dr. Reis, quickly!"

Rupert Bennet could not have moved even if he wished it, as pain slashed his whole body. Still, he forced himself to assess his situation. He was abed in an unfamiliar room with strangers. Both his legs were supported by splints; he must have broken his bones. His torso was also heavily bandaged, and his head fully swathed in cloths.

Good God … was there no inch of him unscathed? His whole body felt aflame, and it was as though brain matter would seep out of his eye sockets any moment. He eked out a raspy, "Where … who …?"

"Sir, please. Contain your questions until the doctor comes. You must relax." Some part of Rupert's mind railed against being side-stepped by a complete stranger, but realized it would be to his benefit to calm down. Closing his eyes, he whispered, "Thirsty," and the stranger replied consolingly, "I understand … but if you would wait just a moment, I would prefer that Dr. Reis be present when I attempt to move you at all. You have been very badly hurt, sir."

The man brought a chair beside him. "I know you have questions, sir. So do we. I am Henry van Wart of Birmingham, and I am here with my wife Sarah, who has gone to fetch the doctor. You are in London at the house of my friend. You have been here five days, sir."

At this Rupert gasped wildly, sending a great spasm of pain throughout his body. His ministering angel laid an urgent but comforting hand on his arm, and continued, "You are safe, and hopefully recovering as we speak. We brought you here as soon as we could. Your carriage overturned, and was heavily damaged. We know not what happened."

Hurried footsteps then came from the hallway, and a moment later, the door swung open to admit a stocky, middle-aged gentleman, let in by kindly-looking Mrs. van Wart who promptly left the room. Mr. van Wart shook the newcomer's hand. "Dr. Reis, thank you for coming. Our patient ..."

"Ah, yes, yes," Dr. Reis' jovial voice negated the rudeness of his interruption. "I am pleased to see you awake, sir. Let me take a look at you, and then we will proceed to questions, as I am sure you have plenty." Dr. Reis made deft but thorough work of his medical review, examining Rupert's various wounds and redressing them, feeling his temperature and pulse, and slightly repositioning the leg splints. All throughout, the physician asked only intermittent questions and made little commentary other than mumbles of "Good, good" and approving hums that Rupert, despite the discomfort of being poked and prodded, found encouraging.

How welcome it was when the examination concluded, and Dr. Reis seemed more satisfied than not. He bid Mr. van Wart to help him prop up the patient to sit, "as I know our guest needs the change." The effort to do so caused Rupert to break out in cold sweat – but it was a relief to be in another attitude, even more so when he was able to take water, albeit slowly.

When Rupert had his fill, Dr. Reis began his recounting. "You are truly healing nicely from your carriage accident, if I am to believe Mr. van Wart's account of how they found you. Aside from bruises all over your person, you hit your head multiple times, which caused this huge swelling on the back and severe bleeding on the temple. I fear a concussion for you, but I am confident that with rest, it is nothing we cannot handle. Two ribs were fractured as well, so we had to bind you to limit movement as much as possible. Your legs show the worst injuries, as each had broken at different places, but thankfully we managed to promptly set them. But the splints will have to stay for quite some time; you will not have use of your legs for a while – although hopefully they will mend enough for you to have daily exercises and gentle manipulation, so all in good time I believe you will regain the majority of use of those limbs, with great caution."

Rupert dared not interrupt this recitation, as he wanted mostly news about his legs. The doctor's report brought him immeasurable relief, and he was now able to turn his thoughts to other matters. He heard Mr. van Wart ask, "Sir, do you recall anything at all?"

Rupert thought on this a while, then replied in a still raspy voice, "Not about the accident, no – nothing about that at all. But this is not really uncommon ... am I correct, doctor?" The physician nodded, and gingerly asked him what he remembered. Rupert could not keep a sardonic lilt from his voice. "I do remember who I am, sir - if that is your question. Rupert Bennet of Hertfordshire, at your service. I am very grateful for my rescue. To whom do I owe my life, gentlemen?"

Mr. van Wart smiled. "Oh, that would be my friend-cum-business partner, sir. We do not know what caused your accident, but we came upon your overturned carriage very soon after the episode occurred, I would think, as your horses were still harnessed and attempting to get up. We have them in the stables, by the way. The carriage itself had broken from the tandem and rolled down a short ravine." Here he paused, then quietly added, "Mr. Bennet, I'm afraid your coachman did not survive …"

Rupert closed his eyes in anguish. He could not remember the coachman, as memory was still hazy in most places, but he knew he was the type to treat servants well. He was about to ask about the poor man's body when he realized that Mr. van Wart was still speaking.

"… But you will rejoice that your daughter, though suffering several cuts and bruises, did come out with less injuries than you did, so that is good news. She also has contacted your brother in Gracechurch Street as to what is to be done for your coachman. Your daughter is a very efficient person …"

At this, Mr. Bennet gave a start. "What? Pardon me, but … what did you say?"

There was a slight pause, before Dr. Reis proceeded to explain, "Your daughter, Mr. Bennet. I treated her for some cuts and bruises as well as a sprained wrist, but she undoubtedly would recover quickly, and has very adeptly seen to arrangements regarding your coachman…"

But Rupert was vehemently shaking his head, ignoring the sharp pain that shot through his head. Witnessing his growing agitation, Dr. Reis immediately set out his vial of laudanum and grabbed a teaspoon on standby on the night table, instructing Mr. van Wart to hold him steady. But before he could administer the sedative, his distraught patient said, "No, no, please … what you say cannot be. My daughters are very young still – my oldest being only two years old, and the next one only a babe, a tiny babe, whom I held in my arms last week to say goodbye …! Both girls hardly in any position to travel, much less make arrangements! And I know no one from Gracechurch Street ..."

It was then the door opened again with force, and in ran a young woman with dark curls, smiling through tears. She was followed by Mr. van Wart's wife and a young gentleman who, though sporting a very warm welcome, nonetheless faltered at the palpable tension in the room, to which the young lady was at first oblivious. She joyfully exclaimed, "Papa! Thank God! You are awake!" She rushed to his bedside – then stopped. Her father was looking at her oddly … and it began to frighten her. "Papa?" She carefully stole a look at Dr. Reis, who himself was looking uncertain.

"Papa …" The girl's voice had lost its ebullience, and she could only whisper. "What is wrong?" She tried to take Rupert's hand, but he recoiled at her touch. Still, she insisted on some kind of physical contact, and trying desperately to control anguish from seeping into her voice, cried, "Do you not know me, Papa? It is I, your Lizzy - Elizabeth, your daughter …"

Rupert shouted in alarm, as he tried to get away from the girl. Pain lanced every bit of him, and with an agonized grunt, Rupert Bennet saw all black, and knew no more.


	2. The Place Where I Belong

**Author's Note on the previous chapter: There was a real person named Henry van Wart of Birmingham, England, married to Sarah van Wart, nee Irving. She was the sister of Washington Irving, American author in the early 1800s who wrote such short story classics as Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Rip van Winkle. In this story, I am imagining that Mr. Bennet's experience was Washington Irving's loose inspiration for Rip van Winkle, a nary-a-care kind of man who fell asleep and woke up 20 years later to find his entire world changed.**

**Everything unrecognizable is simply in my imagination, and I cannot ever take anything away from Washington Irving, even much less from the inestimable Jane Austen. So all standard disclaimers apply.**

**As promised (or threatened), this story is dedicated to my dear Anja … and a new encourager named Mari. Two chapters to set everything up, and then one chapter every 5 days or so. I hope you enjoy.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two <strong>

**_"_****_The Place Where I Belong"_**

Rupert Bennet stayed in London for two weeks in the home of the gentleman he now trusted implicitly, along with Mr. van Wart who by then had departed for Birmingham with his wife after heartily wishing him a speedy recovery. Dr. Reis prescribed a light sedative to aid Rupert in resting and healing properly, as Rupert had episodes of high anxiety following the revelation of his predicament. His daughter had not seen him again after a second attempt - panic had seized the man during those two occasions, enough to render a possibility of apoplexy that Dr. Reis had gently advised postponing the meeting. "He is overwhelmed," Dr. Reis admonished with compassion, "and we need to accord him time." This Elizabeth understood, though it broke her heart to have it so. Thus, she decided that the best course of action would be to go home, apprise her family of the situation and prepare accommodations for whatever her father's recuperation required. "Please … tell him I love him," the young lady said near tears to the kindly doctor and her father's host.

His name was Charles Bingley, the son of a wealthy tradesman who had taken over his father's business affairs, mostly in shipping (where Mr. van Wart was a partner), upon the latter's death. Before his passing, Bingley Senior fervently wished for his heir to elevate their family's status to that of landed gentry, and this the present Mr. Bingley intended to carry through. What a fortuitous thing therefore to discover that Mr. Bennet's Longbourn was the neighboring estate to Netherfield Park which he had been considering leasing as his first foray into land ownership!

"Netherfield!" exclaimed Mr. Bennet, momentarily forgetting his situation. "T'is a promising estate, certainly, but I had not known it was for lease! Why, Mr. Huntley, the owner, just told Father last week of his plans to …"

And here Mr. Bennet stopped short, having remembered - his father was dead! Gone these twelve years because of a carriage accident as well, and his mother followed three years after. Rupert had been master of Longbourn for a dozen years … and he had absolutely no memory of it! He swallowed to keep his emotions at bay.

Noting with compassion the older man's battle within himself, Mr. Bingley sighed. "I am sorry, Mr. Bennet," he said. "Please, anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to let me know. Stay here as long as you need – after all, Dr. Reis reminds you to limit movement as much as possible. My sisters are away from home, but my staff will be at your disposal."

And so it was that Rupert Bennet was comfortably ensconced where he was. Some days of recuperation were easier than others, but the struggles were more emotional than anything else, as Dr. Reis attested. On a particularly emotionally-laden morning, Mr. Bennet requested an audience with his host. "I think I should go, Mr. Bingley," he whispered. "I truly cannot ever repay you for your kindness, but I need to rediscover … to remember … the place where I belong." He tried to disguise his quivering voice, even as Mr. Bingley expressed concern about the soundness of the idea. In the end, Mr. Bingley relented, recognizing the deep gash in the man's soul that superceded any need for physical comfort.

With Dr. Reis' input, a note was quickly dispatched to Rupert's London relatives, and prompt arrangements were made for his travel, with Edward Gardiner, Rupert's brother-in-law, as companion. All precautions, including numerous stops, had been conscientiously ascertained by Dr. Reis, Edward, and Mr. Bingley, who cheerfully lent one of his carriages for the journey. Rupert was extremely gratified.

The rocking carriage easily lulled Edward Gardiner to a nap, and Rupert took the time to think of his new life. He snorted at the notion. _New life – old life – I do not know how to label these anymore. _He shut his eyes to stem the beginning of distress.

Twenty years of his life … gone!

Rupert Bennet at first refused to believe it, just as he refused to face that young lady called Lizzy. He remembered how he spurned her when she tried to hold him on that afternoon of first revelations … he could still hear her sobs. _God… I know I hurt her - but my shock knew no bounds!_

That day, he demanded at once to speak to his purported brother from Gracechurch Street, to try to find an explanation of sorts. _Edward does not have a house in town, _he wanted to gloat, _and this will prove them wrong. _ But his brother had accompanied Elizabeth to Charles Bingley's residence upon receiving word that Rupert had regained consciousness_, _and had promptly shown himself to Rupert. The jolt was great. Edward was no longer the lanky lad of nineteen when he married his sister, but a mature, self-made man with a successful, London-based business. Calmly, Edward answered all questions thrown his way by a very confused and agitated Rupert – no more, no less, than what he demanded to know, upon instructions from Dr. Reis.

_"__Yes, Rupert, your wife - my sister Janine - is well, and would undoubtedly be glad to hear you are well …"_

_"__No, Rupert, your children are not babes anymore. Jane is two and twenty, and Lizzy two years younger, and very much like you …"_

_"__I am sorry, Rupert, but you have been master for well up to twelve years now …"_

_"__Yes, Rupert, you have three other daughters, the youngest being fifteen …"_

Five daughters, Rupert mused. Something then nagged at his brain. Something about _daughters ... _Suddenly, Rupert's eyes widened, and he bolted upright in the carriage. "The entail! My God, the entail!" he shouted, aghast.

"Yes, it is still in place … unfortunately," carefully said Edward, who had woken early enough to witness Rupert's change in demeanor, "and it honestly vexes Janine greatly."

Rupert paled. The magnitude of his near-death struck him squarely in the face and took such a hold on him that he started gasping. Edward, alarmed at his brother's pallor, quickly sat up and reached across to touch Rupert's arm determinedly. "Rupert! Quiet yourself right now! You are here … you are very much alive. That is all that matters."

Rupert was in a panic, but attempted now to collect himself. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes to get his bearings. Then he whispered, "Do … do we know who will inherit?"

Edward wondered if he should say more about the subject and further upset his brother - or if he should just let Rupert discover matters by himself. He cautiously decided on the former. "You met him and his son, who at that time was three and ten, during your father's funeral. William Collins, Sr. was his name – a distant cousin of your father's. His son now stands to inherit, as William Collins, Sr. passed away four months ago due to a lingering illness. Collins Junior is a parson at some estate in Kent."

Silence ensued, save the rattle of the carriage wheels and the occasional command of the coachman. Finally, Rupert spoke, more calmly, and in a way, more resolute. "Edward … why did I come to London?"

Edward looked at Rupert straight in the eye, and with conviction replied, "You came to break the entail."

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><p>Oakham Mount was Elizabeth's most favorite place. It was her center of peace, where she could look down below and find herself untouched by all the din and chaos of the world. Most of all, it was where she could stifle the overwhelming noise of Longbourn – at least for a while – and forget the nightmares that had hounded her since their accident.<p>

She had come home from London a week and a half ago, and shared with her family in her most reassuring voice her father's condition. She was careful to emphasize especially to her mother that the patriarch was recovering very well, but Janine Bennet, a nervous, complaining woman, chose to believe instead that the gates of Hell had been shaken at their manor. "We are doomed! Doomed without a home, and thrown into hedgerows. Salts! Bring me my salts!" she cried. Elizabeth sighed. Her mother's loud travails had not ceased one bit during all her waking moments, and no amount of reasoning could penetrate her frenzied mind.

And there too was Mary, endlessly moralizing about the virtues of all being prepared to meet the Maker anytime … and Kitty and Lydia giddy in anticipation of obtaining more money from Mama for frippery, now that Papa was absent to curtail daily spending. Elizabeth huffed. _Frustrating, the lot of them!_

But dear Jane remained her anchor - placid, caring Jane who had her own way of dealing with the chaos at home. Elizabeth found herself many times basking in Jane's sense of quiet, and appropriating what she could for herself_. My sweet Jane is an angel._

_But Papa, I miss you. I want you back. See, I have endeavored to ease things for you here. I have seen to some of the needs of the estate, with Mr. Blythe's help. I watched the accounts. I visited the tenants. I have done what I could, Papa - just come home!_

She felt profound thanks for the kindness Mr. Bingley extended to the stranger that was her father. Elizabeth was sure that by now, her father and that nice young man had struck a friendship, especially as she had learned that Mr. Bingley just might become their new neighbor soon. _My mother would be thrilled – a single gentleman of good fortune must be in want of a wife. And dear Jane would be first in line!_ Elizabeth chuckled, and felt her spirits lift.

_Bless your heart, Mr. Bingley. My father is in good hands_

She recalled the last time she was at his home. Dr. Reis had said that her father was not ready to face her, and that it would be best to grant him time to come to grips with his situation. Elizabeth had cried but found comfort in the compassionate eyes of the doctor and Mr. Bingley, enough to bare her soul by whispering, "Tell him I love him," and allowed herself to be escorted out by Dr. Reis. At that moment, the door opened to admit a tall gentleman who greeted Bingley in a deep, grave voice before turning curious eyes to Elizabeth. She was too preoccupied to notice, though, and walked straight out the hallway to retrieve her outerwear, even as the men continued speaking.

"Darcy! I was just on my way to see you!"

"I am sorry, Bingley … I did not realize you had guests"

Elizabeth smiled when she heard Mr. Bingley say, "Well, yes …but I am afraid this is no occasion for introductions, Darcy, so do forgive me …"

But she frowned when the other gentleman replied: "It is of no consequence, Bingley. I did not come to meet any more simpering females of London – I have had it with the lot of them, especially those not even handsome enough to tempt me." Elizabeth rolled her eyes irritably at the presumption of this Darcy person _(what gall!)_, and wondered how someone as good as Mr. Bingley could tolerate a rude creature as that one. Still, she could not care enough to pause, so with a final shrug to get her outerwear on, she straightened up, smiled her thanks at the bemused doctor, and walked out into the pungent late-summer air of London. She needed all her focus on Papa and the days ahead, if she was to be of any help at all.

It was only now, here in the quiet of Oakham Mount, that she remembered the tall gentleman, and felt annoyed that the memory should intrude on her peace. _I hope he never comes to Hertfordshire! Such ill manners would make _him _barely tolerable among our four and twenty families! _She chuckled and, feeling better about herself, turned back to face the chaos of her home.


	3. Hertfordshire

**Author's note: There was a bit of discussion about names (again). Please don't let that distract you from the story. All I know is that Jane Austen did not give a first name to some of her characters, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet among them. "Thomas" and "Fanny" are popular choices in the world of fanfiction - I just decided to be contrary to popular thought. That's all. I hope you enjoy this one.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Three <strong>

**_"_****_Hertfordshire"_**

Perhaps Elizabeth Bennet would be more willing to extend grace to one Fitzwilliam Darcy had she heard the entirety of the gentlemen's conversation in the parlor that morning.

"I'm afraid this is no occasion for introductions, Darcy," Bingley had said, "so do forgive me …"

Darcy dismissed the apology with an aggrieved wave of his hand. "It is of no consequence, Bingley. I did not come to meet any more simpering females of London – I have had it with the lot of them, especially those not even handsome enough to tempt me!" And with that he ruffled his already unruly hair, and sat down whilst trying to contain his ire.

"Darcy!" Bingley admonished his friend. "That is a rude thing to say, especially still within earshot!"

Darcy kept himself from rolling his eyes. "I do not mean your acquaintance who had just left. I did not get a good look at her, for she was walking away very quickly as I came in. No," he sighed, "I refer to Lady Hitchcock, whom I met in front of your townhouse as I walked up. She had inquired of your butler if your sister had come back to town from ... ahh ... wherever she is at present. Lady Hitchcock was frighteningly and obnoxiously forward."

Darcy shuddered at the memory of said Lady batting her eyelashes and trying to press her spilling breasts onto Darcy's person. Then, at the pretext of a summer heat swoon, Lady Hitchcock took his hand and attempted to put it on the swell of her backside. That was when Darcy bolted_ (hang decorum!)_ and angrily strode up the steps to pound on Bingley's door. The lady fell on the ground indecorously, and sputtered her vitriol. If Darcy were in a better mood, he would have laughed. But as it was, he was livid.

Hearing his friend mutter about his irritation, Bingley teased. "You poor, hounded man! T'is a pity my sister Caroline is not here to save you!"

"Your sister would do much worse, Charles," Darcy retorted. "The only reason I ever venture into your house is your assurance that Miss Bingley – _and _Mrs. Hurst – are not around." He then sighed and veered subjects. "Well, Bingley, what has you so excited that you had to talk to me urgently?"

"Ah, yes!" Bingley replied happily. "Do you remember me speaking about an estate in Hertfordshire? Well, I concur with you, it seems to be ideally situated for me to take it. On lease first, of course, as you recommend. All I have to do now is inspect the estate in person, and I can sign the agreement." Bingley expounded on more details his solicitor had uncovered about Netherfield and surrounding properties – comparative yields, product barters and such, as well as current tenant issues and what-not.

Darcy immensely enjoyed the eagerness shown by the younger man, but when he heard about Mr. Bennet and the uncommon – even dire - circumstances that led to Bingley hosting the gentleman, Darcy's interest was piqued even more. Evidently, Bingley's burgeoning friendship with the gentleman was the item that pushed him to definitely decide to take Netherfield Park.

"Through Mr. Bennet's many descriptions," Bingley continued, "I imagined how Netherfield was like about twenty years ago, and how the present-day situation proved quite below par – not too much to be daunting, naturally, but enough to challenge me. I can do this, Darcy … but it would mean a lot to have your guidance in this endeavor," Bingley entreated him.

"It would be my pleasure, Bingley," Darcy said, reaching out his hand.

"Excellent!" enthused the other as he returned the handshake. Then with a brief pause, Bingley added, "I would like you to meet him, Darcy. Already, I have learned much from him. He has an impressive mind, despite his infirmity." Darcy admitted to a great curiosity about this gentleman, and so asked Bingley to lead on.

It was a fantastic meeting. Darcy _did_ immediately perceive the spark of intelligence in Mr. Bennet - a kindred spirit, even - and several minutes were spent in lively discussion about lands, crops and harvests, as well as latest farm techniques that had Mr. Bennet ogle-eyed. "I wonder if I have implemented these things in my estate, Mr. Darcy," he stated sadly. "I remember naught of the years of being master."

Darcy was unsure of what to say, but settled for a sincere though inadequate sentiment. "I am sure, sir, that once you are back on your feet, you will find your prospects to your liking." Mr. Bennet said nothing.

After a half-hour, the gentlemen rose to leave. "Rest, Mr. Bennet," smiled Bingley, "or your daughter will be quite cross with me." A mischievous glint then entered his eyes. "I was not able to introduce you when you saw her downstairs, Darcy, but as you said about her …"

"Bingley!" Darcy warned sharply, but his friend only laughed.

Mr. Bennet watched this exchange with some perplexity. "Elizabeth?" He saw one man glare at the other, and receiving back a grin. "I do not as yet remember her character, gentlemen, but I have been repeatedly told that she is very much like me. If so, Mr. Darcy, if you admired her prettiness, then know that she would not be easily flattered … and if you by chance insulted her, then understand that she would find ways to get you back well and good when you join Mr. Bingley at Netherfield." At this, Bingley laughed and Darcy turned red. _So … an insult. How diverting,_ Mr. Bennet thought, albeit with a yawn.

Out in the hallway some seconds later, Darcy turned to his friend and cuffed him on the head. "_You_ are a trouble-maker, Charles Bingley," he muttered and walked away. Bingley laughed and followed, and completely missed the rueful smirk on the other man's face. Darcy admitted to himself, "_Well, what could the lady say that I would not deserve? I had been ungentlemanly. She could have heard my thoughtless words and misconstrued them with good reason. In which case, I had best apologize."_

So to Hertfordshire he would go.

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><p>A month later, Rupert Bennet felt no such levity. His memories had not returned.<p>

Feeling melancholy, Rupert asked a footman to bring him out into the Longbourn garden, pushed in a wheeled chair especially fashioned for him by one of his carpenter-tenants. There, underneath a bower, he breathed in the windy onset of autumn, letting his soul be cleansed even as he thought of the last month and a half. His physical injuries were healing well … but it was the non-retrieval of his memories that bothered him the most. Oh, certainly there were times when a memory felt as though it was hovering just right there - that if he stood very still, that memory would by itself settle into the spaces of his thoughts, as a butterfly would on a blossom. But alas, no memory ever pressed itself that way, and Rupert was getting frustrated. He needed – wanted – to remember, especially as, while working on estate matters, he would uncover more and more evidence to show that he had, indeed, been a very indifferent master.

_What happened to you, Rupert?_ he chided. _You had dreams when you were in Cambridge … why did you let go?  
><em>  
>His family was also a source of stupefaction - nay, more like horror - to Rupert, except for Jane and Elizabeth. Rupert was pleased that his two eldest daughters were all that was lovely and gracious, and he was deriving great pleasure in getting to know them afresh. <em>Wherever you two ladies are known, my loves, you must be respected and valued; and I hope you will not appear to less advantage for having some very trying relations.<br>_  
>He sighed, feeling especially wistful now at all those lost years. He would give anything to remember their growing-up years, for he was certain they had bouts of excitement, <em>especially with an intrepid and curious girl like Lizzy. She is a rare mixture of sweetness and archness, simplicity and intelligence! And then my dear demure Jane, a ray of pure sunshine in a field of flowers. If only the younger girls ...<em>

He grimaced. What a very marked disparity he had witnessed in his daughters, divided as they were in two camps. The two eldest beautifully turned out and worthy of every ounce of pride ... and the three younger all astoundingly silly and invariably inappropriate. _Why, I am sorely tempted to think they are not mine ...!_

He froze.

_No. Surely not. Janine would never ..._ Rupert's heart began to pound as his mind turned over this possibility - but in the end, something in the deepest part of him whispered, "No, not that. Janine may be many things now, but faithless she is not. I know this, I do. Nor would I countenance an arrangement like this, if so. No, there is another explanation …"

His mind swirled when he thought of Janine. She was as handsome as ever, having barely aged from twenty years ago … _but why, when, how did she transform into this silly, nervous woman?_ Rupert remembered that she was always an exuberant woman, but in a freshly innocent way. Now it flabbergasted him to witness her entirely lacking in everyday sensibility, economic practicality and social decorum_._ Rupert huffed. _Did I not teach...?  
><em>  
><em>Aye, and there's the rub.<em> Rupert closed his eyes. _I think it must be owned that the burden of guidance would have been with me ... and I failed in the charge._ Tears stung the gentleman's eyes, and he stifled a sob from his chest.

"Papa? Are you alright?"

"Lizzy." He took the hand that was on his shoulder and kissed it tenderly. "I was just thinking of should-haves, my dear ... and I fear to have discovered I come up short. Please, sit," he said, gesturing to a nearby bench. _Dear daughter, be kind to your Papa ...  
><em>  
>As Rupert prepared to bare his soul to the one person he knew would have the mental and emotional acuity for what he wanted to discuss, the wooden side gate burst open with such force that the boughs in the alcove shook violently and let loose a rain of leaves. In rushed Mrs. Bennet, boisterous as a dervish, followed by a pair of cackling geese in the form of his two youngest daughters. Rupert's heart sank. One of the girls - Lydia - was pulling down her already low-cut dress, as she demonstrated to the other one, Kitty, the type of gown she wanted for the next assembly. <em>Good Lord! Had she always behaved like a tart … yet at fifteen?<br>_  
>"Mr. Bennet!" panted the woman as she ran to her husband. "Have you heard? Netherfield is let at last!" She then let loose her grand effusions, whirling and twirling as her two youngest did the same, and all the while talking about rich men and "what a great thing it is for our girls", and plans to purchase silk, and ribbons, laces and such ….<p>

Rupert could take no more. "ENOUGH!" he suddenly roared, belying the rather pale figure on the chair. Everyone was shocked into silence. "Good God, woman! Are you out of your senses? Into my study ... NOW!"

Nervously, Mrs. Bennet fairly ran indoors with a wave of her kerchief - leaving three daughters, one bemused, two confused, and a footman quietly aiding to push the wheeled chair inside, and hiding a tiny smirk. _It's about time!_

Later that evening in his study, even amid plaintive cries and wails of "That is not fair!" and "Why would he do this?" - even among foot stomps and crashing paraphernalia - performed by several Longbourn females all throughout the house, Rupert Bennet fell asleep, and had the first of many vivid dreams of his father Amos. There the man stood wordlessly, and with a smile held out something to his son.

A satchel. The one he brought to London a month and a half ago.

Rupert suddenly woke. _The entail, _he thought. _It is time to address it._


	4. Winds of Change

**Chapter Four**

**"Winds of Change"**

Morning was bright and sunny in Hertfordshire the following day, but Longbourn itself seemed overcast. Still, the servants were quite giddy with news of all that transpired last night. Cook Tibbles was gleefully brandishing the butcher knife as she related all she knew, and the rest who had gathered in the kitchen for good-natured gossip sat back to give her a wide berth.

"Aye, Master Bennet couldna take no mo', I tell ya," she said, pleased to be the one in the know. "Too much talk of balls an' such, especially for ones as young as Misses Lydia an' Kitty. Aye, t'was news that made me jump for joy! Those gels should'na be goin' 'round frilly like, anyways. You shou'd hea' what the village boys say about 'em! So 'tis a good thing what the Master is doin'."

"Hear, hear!" cried the footman Nate, as he raised his morning teacup to all.

Annie the scullery maid piped in as well, "'Tis true, then, that th' master 'as lock'd up the young ladies in their bedchambers, and they will no' step out 'til they be all growed up?"

Mrs. Tibbles clucked her tongue. "Oh, chil', course not! Th' master canno' be so cruel! No, they just be stayin' away from balls an' all till they are eighteen, I believe. An' their coin for bonnets an' ribbons all those dainty stuff been cut to quarters, as well as the missus'. Say, Althea … how is the missus?" Everyone looked expectantly at the longstanding housekeeper, but Althea Hill only raised her eyebrows in rebuke.

"I certainly shan't be talking about the master and mistress in gossip, Lottie Tibbles!" she exclaimed. "And none of you should be talking about the young ladies, either!" The others gave her an askance look which she promptly ignored, as she continued to nonchalantly fold some linen. Then she spoke under her breath. "Although I believe I shall order more salts from Mr. Jones."

The others chuckled. Then Betty, who was busy eating her breakfast roll, spoke up quietly, "But I am happy for Miss Lizzy an' Miss Jane – they be the only ones last night that the master dinna spoke to angrily. I think them two oldest Miss Bennets are very good folk, very kind." The girl blushed at so much speech from her, unused as she was to being taken seriously. She had been with Longbourn only six months – a waif taken in by Mrs. Hill, who knew the young girl's parents from the outskirts of Meryton. Betty had a talent for arranging hair, and for that, Mrs. Hill was able to talk to Mr. Bennet to employ her as ladies' maid.

The rest looked upon her gently, and Lottie Tibbles asked, "Those two be the only ones treatin' ye with kindness, Betty?"

A shy shrug followed. "Miss Mary ain't so bad, ma'am … but often with Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty, t'would be a pinch here or there … or pull me hair, sometimes. An' the missus … well, she got very angry one time 'cause her gown took long t' iron, so she shoved me, like, an' I hit my face on the door post, then she pulled me hair also. But, Mrs. Tibbles, I be fine, truly. I ain't hurt."

"Oh, Betty," lamented Mrs. Hill. "Was that when I saw Miss Jane tending to your cut lip with ice?"

"Yes, ma'am. Miss Lizzy be in the study wi' Mr. Bennet to tell 'im what 'appened, but the master dinna do nut'n but gimme an extra coin, so I s'posed' everything was settled." Silence fell over the kitchen, and Betty said rather quietly, "Mebbe now things be differ'nt. Mrs. Hill? Master be takin' more notice of things?"

"I hope so, child. I hope so."

The sound of clearing throat came from the doorway. It was Mr. Hill, the housekeeper's husband and the master's valet who doubled as butler. "Pardon me," he said politely – Mr. Hill was always ever so proper – "but Mr. Bennet requests that Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth meet with him in his study in an hour." His gaze dropped kindly on the young Betty. "Perhaps, Betty, it be best that they be roused now and prepared for the day?" Betty nodded and rose from her seat, and started to move past Mr. Hill when the older man touched her shoulder gently. "And yes, Miss Betty, things _will_ be different now with Mr. Bennet. I feel it." The girl curtsied with a smile, and left the room.

* * *

><p>Elizabeth had actually already been out on her walk since the first fingers of dawn appeared, thinking hard on the events of last night. For the first time as far as she could remember, her father – the lackadaisical man who loved making sport of the foibles and follies of others – had been downright angry and consequently stern towards her mother and sisters. He had called his wife into his study after that little exchange in the garden, and for almost an hour, they were quarantined. All five Bennet sisters nervously waited in the near sitting room (Lydia for once quiet and uncertain), until finally, Mrs. Bennet rushed out of the room, flustered and tear-streaked, and ran straight upstairs, yelling for Mrs. Hill to bring up her salts and demanding that Kitty and Lydia attend her in her bedchamber.<p>

Elizabeth was surprised when Mr. Bennet thwarted this as well, instead firmly directing Mary, Kitty and Lydia inside his study, and for thirty minutes kept them behind closed doors. Even Jane and Elizabeth were barred from the room, though they could well hear their father's strong pronouncements to the younger siblings: no more balls or parties without his explicit permission or company; monthly allowance reduced to a fraction of the usual; and an education plan soon to be outlined that they may at least "improve their minds by extensive reading"' beyond the fluffy London fashion sketches of Kitty and Lydia and all of Fordyce's dogma so beloved of Mary.

Elizabeth could hear Lydia uttering objections – little squeaks of pleas at first, but soon growing into complaints quite verbose and loud and utterly obstreperous to the point of disrespect, which made Mr. Bennet all the more adamant in his stance. And then came his coup: "And since you, Kitty and Lydia, are no longer considered out, you will be absent for next month's assembly."

Oh, the furor this pronouncement brought! Kitty hiccuped and wailed, and Lydia stomped and raved and by all manners of vindictive expression let known to her father that she was not going to comply. "This is ridiculously unfair, and you know it!" she spat. "I already made plans for the assembly; I will not be stopped. Mama will most certainly side with me."

"Your Mama _may_ not be attending, either."

Silence first, then came the crashing on the floor of what sounded to Elizabeth like furniture and books and bulks of paper. Shrieks followed. Elizabeth could not stand by anymore and rushed into the room, followed closely by Jane. It was an unwieldy sight: Lydia stood over a seated Mr. Bennet, yelling her heart out and only held back by an alarmed Mary, while on the side Kitty coughed in panic. On the floor were books and loose sheets, an upturned ink bottle and paper weights galore.

Yet even to Elizabeth's frantic eyes, the most awesome vision was that of her father's countenance - calm, determined, and very stoic, even as vitriolic spittle inelegantly flew from Lydia's mouth. "I hate you, I most certainly hate you! Why shall I do what you say, when you do not even remember me? Am I to be dictated to by a half-wi -?"

"Lydia!" Elizabeth cried.

Lydia turned to her sister with blazing eyes - though Elizabeth herself saw some remorse shadow her features before a curtain of defiance again fell. "That is what Aunt Phillips called him," Lydia said with a toss of her head.

"That woman … is poison!" gritted Mr. Bennet forcefully – and slowly, Mr. Bennet rose on his own feet, pain hardly apparent, and he stood straight and tall and towered over his wayward daughter. "You are a disgraceful daughter, Lydia Bennet, with nothing to recommend you except your prettiness. Your mother has harped too much on that, but beyond that, you are without substance. Kitty and Mary are not too far gone … but about you, I worry, because I feel that before the year is out, any common man or unscrupulous redcoat would have you, and you would think it all a lark." He drew his face closer to Lydia's, and the girl's eyes grew round in fear, unacquainted as she was to this territory.

"Do not test me, young lady," he added dangerously. "I may not remember you, but I remember ME, and I like what I remember far more than what I have learned of myself. Just dare and come against me, Lydia Bennet - YOU WILL LOSE. I promise. Now, to your room! Jane will make sure you stay there until you are called. Go!" he shouted, pointing at the door.

The three youngest Bennets scurried out of the room like little mice. Jane dropped a quick curtsey, then ran after her sisters. At once, Elizabeth moved to guide her father gently to sit back down on his chair, and said, "There now, Papa … gently down now. Hush." And despite the high emotions of the moment, Elizabeth placed a tender kiss on her Papa's forehead and whispered, "You did well, Papa."

Mr. Bennet again took her hand fondly and bestowed a kiss, then ruefully replied, "I may be twenty years too late, my dear … but if I could redeem the years, I have to start now." He held his hand to her cheek. "Go, Lizzy. We talk tomorrow."

And "tomorrow" indeed was today. Elizabeth sighed as she looked below, locking her eyes on where she knew the Longbourn manor was. She could see the tendrils of smoke coming from the chimneys, blown about by the autumn wind. _The winds of change, _she mused, as she prepared to return home, tightening her spencer around her.

As she passed the rose garden near the back gate of Longbourn, she met Jane who was preparing to get Lizzy herself. "Papa wants an audience with us within the hour, Lizzy, so I think you had better refresh yourself and break your fast before then. It might be a long talk." Then Jane took her hand and whispered, "I must admit I am a little nervous."

Pressing back, Elizabeth replied, "I think I am more curious than nervous. Everything will turn out well – in fact, better. Come. Join me for breakfast before we join Papa." They weaved through the house to get to Elizabeth's room for a change of clothes, and as they came near the front entrance, they heard someone talking to the butler. _That sounds familiar, _thought Elizabeth wonderingly, and started veering that way instead. Curious, Jane followed.

"Indeed," said the caller, "Mr. Bennet assured me he is an early riser, and would not mind me calling so. Here is my card – if Mr. Bennet is unable to see me, I certainly would be happy to return later."

Elizabeth came out into the foyer. "Mr. Bingley!" she cried. "What a pleasant surprise!" With a smile, she dismissed the butler.

"Miss Elizabeth! I did not think I would be so fortunate as to see you today!" Mr. Bingley exuberantly replied. "I have come to call upon your father, as he has assured me …" His eyes then travelled to the lady next to Elizabeth … and stayed. Elizabeth watched in amusement as Jane blushed when she noticed the newcomer's intense stare, and hurriedly cast her eyes down.

"Ahh … Mr. Bingley, may I present my sister Jane. She carries the title Miss Bennet in our family," she said. It was then she felt the winds of change blow again. _Must be the draft from the front door, _she thought with a smile. _Or not._


	5. Those Endearing Young Charms

**Chapter Five**

**"Those Endearing Young Charms"**

Mr. Bennet was pleased to see Mr. Bingley again, as the two had actually corresponded quite freely since London. Mr. Bingley happily related that he signed the lease for Netherfield yesterday, and to London he was to return before noon this day (which was the reason for the early call) to fetch his sisters and brother-in-law and take up residence in Netherfield in ten days' time. "I probably should have planned to stay longer instead … to enjoy the beauties of Hertfordshire," he declared, casting a quick but meaningful glance at Jane (which did not escape the two other Bennets as they rounded a coffee table in the master's study where they served Mr. Bingley a simple breakfast), "but I'm afraid my sisters are already expecting me today. I shall, however, endeavor to shorten the wait before we get installed in the manor." Another look at Jane, another blush – and all Elizabeth wanted to do was giggle.

But the grin turned into a grimace when their guest added, "And my friend Darcy will be joining us as well. It shall be a merry party, to be sure!"

Later, with Mr. Bingley gone, Lizzy gave Jane a playful nudge, which her sister spurned with a shush. This elicited a laugh from the more mischievous sister that Mr. Bennet himself chuckled, but said nothing. Instead, the patriarch pondered what he was going to say, and how. Elizabeth, ever sensitive to her father's moods, smiled encouragingly at him. After a while, Mr. Bennet said softly, "My memories have not returned … and a part of me feels relieved. I know that the father that I was did not love you girls enough."

Jane immediately opened her mouth to refute his self-deprecation, but Mr. Bennet put his hand up to stop her. "I see all the evidence around me, Jane – in the ledgers I review with our steward, in the production of our fields, in the stupendous library I have created, apparently selfishly… and finally, in the behavior of my wife and three of my children. And yet ... I remember a sweet-faced toddler Jane, and a gurgling babe Lizzy - and all the sense of goodwill of those days and the determination to give you, my children, the world. I even remember feelings of affection for your mother. Now …" He sighed and silence stretched again. "I do not know what happened, but I do not want to go back. That is, I do not want to be the man that I do not even remember, yet you recall … the man who failed you and Longbourn, not from lack of knowledge, but from lack of heart. Right now, you have my heart. All of you."

There was silence. Then Elizabeth reached out to clasp her father's hand. It was all she knew to do, as there was nothing she could say, nothing Jane could add. They simply let the quietness embrace them all.

Finally, Mr. Bennet sighed. "Come, let us talk no more about these things … but discuss your sisters for now. I need your help." They veered on to last night's events, Mr. Bennet reiterating his austere directives for the younger girls that should be followed strictly from now on. Then together, the three of them sketched a plan for the other girls. Realizing that Lydia would be most resistant and disruptive, a strategy was forwarded: ignore her.

"I think there is one thing Lydia cannot abide," explained Mr. Bennet, "and that is the feeling of being inferior. So – if we consistently offer her the same learning experiences as the other two girls and she resists in that irascible manner of hers, then we ignore her and concentrate on loving and supporting Mary and Kitty. We also reward them for improvements they garner. Pretty soon, I believe Lydia would feel the insecurity of discrepancy – especially as, you must remember, she cannot attend balls and parties anymore."

"And ... Mama?" asked Elizabeth.

"Leave your mother to me."

Jane and Elizabeth thought on this awhile, until Jane uncharacteristically broke into a wide grin and declared, "'Tis such a wild idea, Papa, that it just might work." And to that Elizabeth concurred with a laugh.

Days passed, and indeed, the education of the younger girls began, with Lydia absolutely disinclined to participate. The two older sisters made little of Lydia's vehement refusals, instead concentrating on helping the two other girls come into their own. With Mary, Lizzy studied music, gently pointing her out first to selections that would fit her personality and style better. Soon, the two were playing simple duets and laughing at the mistakes they both made, but learning, to Elizabeth's pleasant surprise, tremendously from each other. With Kitty, Jane walked the open fields and crannies, regretting that the cold weather was nearly upon them and thus the whole world seemed preparing for sleep; nonetheless, they looked at what botanicals they could, carefully sketching them (Kitty had a real eye for detail!) and opening up the botany books that were in Papa's library to research together. Together they had identified helpful herbs that could aid in handling some illnesses or injuries, and they kept careful records of those. From the Meryton vicar's wife, who used to be a governess, the sisters were able to obtain tutoring books on Italian – and they, with help from their father, began to study that language as well, although Elizabeth was already stretches ahead of them, as she had started quite young on both French and Italian. Finally, poetry was read aloud by Papa every single evening and discussed among them.

Lydia only pouted and seethed.

Mrs. Bennet, on the other hand, did not know what to make of these events. She heatedly resented her husband's high-handedness, but could not deny that Mary was sounding better on the pianoforte, and was dressing more tastefully as well. Later she learned that the four girls together had remade some of Mary's old gowns to give them a more contemporary appeal. Some of Kitty's dresses were also worked on to more properly reflect her youth, and the result was, as Mr. Bennet told Kitty with a fatherly kiss, "a breath of heaven and happy dreams." Mrs. Bennet inwardly agreed that Kitty looked fresh-faced, but snidely thought that she would not catch a husband that way … on the other hand, Kitty was not yet out, so it was a moot point. _Oh, how vexing this is,_ she thought.

She continued to hiss her annoyance for many days, and then was thoroughly confused when her husband asked her to come into his study one morning to read the news for him. "No, no, Mrs. Bennet, not the gossip column," he laughed when she turned to that part of the broadsheet. "Some real, earth-shaking events, if you please - for truly, the world is bigger than the Ton. Here," he said, pointing to an article about the Continent, "read this news to me." And from then on, such became the routine of the Master and Mistress, and they later moved on to studying the household budget together and checking where expenses could be reduced or downright done away with. "I know I have cut some of your millinery expenses, Janine – that cannot be helped, as you see in this column how much we are spending in that area. How about I cut some of my book expenses as well, in the spirit of fairness? Do you think we can agree, my dear?" And Rupert Bennet shot an endearing, charming smile to his wife who, remembering the groom of her youth, wordlessly nodded.

And poor Lydia pouted some more.

* * *

><p>It was an unusually blustery day with periodic bursts of pouring rain, and Fitzwilliam Darcy again groaned and questioned the wisdom of having taken his mount to Hertfordshire rather than join his valet Simms in the carriage yesterday. He sighed in frustration. <em>I would do anything to avoid being with Caroline Bingley, though<em>, he reasoned, _even by just one day. The woman is relentless._

Many times had he warned Bingley about Caroline, but the woman was fixated on the idea that she could make Mr. Darcy see her merits as mistress of his estate, and that their sojourn to Hertfordshire was a trial run for her, courtesy of Mr. Darcy. The gentleman almost cancelled his plans to join Bingley in Hertfordshire, as Miss Bingley had circulated in London that he was going to spend several weeks with them in the country, slanting the report such that it implied that Darcy was to go at her behest, not Charles'. Hearing the rumor during one of his evenings at Whites', Darcy was infuriated enough to walk out, but not before unequivocally correcting that pernicious assumption. He then went straight to the Bingley townhouse to tell the siblings, "I have had enough of these rumors of an attachment between us, Miss Bingley. You are a sister of my friend, nothing more. I insist you never imply anything else, because I assure you there will never be anything else. Can I be any clearer than this?"

"I am sure you misunderstood your peers, Mr. Darcy," Miss Bingley said calmly, although inside, she was furious. _How can this man be so blind?_

"I am sure I did not," was Darcy's curt reply, and promptly he turned to leave the house. Bingley caught up with him by the stables, where Darcy continued to expound on his displeasure.

"I have spoken with her, Darcy, and I will keep it up," Bingley pledged, "but please, you must come to Hertfordshire with me. I need your help in getting estate issues settled. There is much education for me. You promised, Darcy!" He sounded desperate, and Darcy sighed. He had never backed out of a promise, and he did not want to start with his closest friend.

"Very well, Bingley, but …"

"I know, I know. Keep Caroline away from you. I understand. So you will come?" Darcy nodded resignedly; Bingley was pleased. "Excellent! Mr. Bennet is looking forward to seeing you as well, you know. And you must meet his daughters. The eldest is truly an angel!" Darcy snorted, and mounted his horse. For all he knew, his pronouncement of "not tolerable enough to tempt him" held true about this angel … but he was not going to tell Bingley that.

So here he was, days later, with Cadmus his horse trudging more slowly than usual to their destination because of the gusty wind that more than once had threatened to topple him – his hat was already claimed as victim - and the intermittent downpour that had already soaked him through. He was thankful the rain had stopped – even more thankful that finally he saw the outline of the village just up ahead, with Netherfield not that much further.

In a few minutes, Darcy was riding on the main thoroughfare, hatless and sopping wet and completely bedraggled. He received a curious look or two, but was generally left alone, thankfully, as everyone was similarly fighting and squinting against the bluster of the incessant wind. Despite such inclemency, Darcy noted the village to be a charming one, reminding him of Lambton near Pemberley. Relieved, he hunkered down for the last leg to Netherfield.

Suddenly, a sheet of paper blew onto Cadmus' face, the wetness causing it to stick across the horse's eyes to block his vision. Startled, Cadmus neighed wildly and reared up, and an unprepared Darcy was thrown down onto the mud amid shrieks from witnesses. Then, to his horror, he saw a young lady run to the rearing horse, frantically trying to grab the paper. "My music!" she cried as she stood right under the hooves, oblivious.

Fearful for her safety, Darcy shouted, "Nooo!" and pushed himself on his feet to grab the girl and give a forceful command to Cadmus. Everything happened very fast. The horse, still skittish, thumped down his powerful legs with such force that the girl blenched and cried her panic, and the next moment Cadmus bolted from his master and stopped some distance away, his ingrained training finally coming to the fore.

Darcy whirled in anger on the scared young lady and fairly shook her by the shoulders. "Are you out of your mind? You could have been killed!" The girl was trembling frightfully and Darcy in his temper did not even notice that she was already being held by another lady, a slightly older one, and he continued to glare. "You never, ever approach a frantic horse, do you understand? Not unless you are properly trained to calm him down!"

"Sir, please! My sister is frightened enough without you yelling at her so!" said the other woman heatedly.

Darcy's ire was turned to her. "I have just have saved her life!"

"For which we thank you! But your heroism, sir, is sadly being eroded by your angry shouting. Please desist!" she rebutted.

"My heroism …!" he muttered with wide-eyed incredulity, then gritted in exasperation, "You _cannot_ believe I would care about _that_, madam! Your sister was in danger!"

"I know." The young lady's voice was suddenly contrite. "Forgive me." Then turning to her sister, she tenderly asked, "Mary, dearest, are you alright now?"

The young lady was still shaking, her face against her sister's neck, but her sobbing had petered down somewhat. "I just … I just wanted to get my sheet music, Lizzy. I have been waiting (sob) two weeks for that piece so we could play duet (sob), and with Papa limiting my spending money, I was afraid I won't get the music for another month. The breeze blew it away (sob), and I did not think carefully. I am sorry, sir."

The older sister caressed her soothingly. "It will be alright, Mary. You can use my money. Come, let us head home." She lifted her eyes to the gentleman (and that was when he noticed their deep sea green color) and curtsied. "Truly, sir, I am grateful," she said, and draped one arm protectively around her still trembling sister to lead her down the road. The wind had whipped her bonnet off her head so it was dangling by its sash around her neck, allowing her thick chestnut curls to whip about in the breeze. Darcy gazed at her retreating form with wonder ... and when he looked at the younger girl, her form all forlorn, another picture came to him: _Georgiana. My poor little sister_.

Shaking his head, Darcy looked around and realized he had become the object of many eyes. He grunted and looked down at his muddy attire with a sigh. "Nice save, guv'nuh!" someone hailed, and there were murmurs of agreement, but there was one who piped in, "But take care that you not be on Miz Lizzy's bad side, y'hear?" and such was met with chuckles.

Darcy smiled briefly in acknowledgment, and with a final but ineffectual brush-down of his clothes, whistled for Cadmus to come. This the horse did, the music sheet still somehow attached to the side of his face, though his eyes were now uncovered. Darcy peeled off the paper and read the title: "Thomas Moore. Believe Me If All Those Endearing Young Charms." A part of a collection of ballads, Darcy knew. _Georgiana plays this, too._

He folded the sheet and, putting it in his breast pocket, prepared to mount. _I suppose I could order the music from London to cheer the young girl up,_ he thought, _lest I meet the fire in Miss Lizzy's eyes again_. He wondered if the sisters were from this quaint village. "Endearing young charms, indeed," he whispered with a chuckle.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note 2: Thomas Moore (1779-1852) was an Irish poet lyricist who wrote many thoughtful ballads early on in the 19th century, among them "Last Rose of Summer" and "The Minstrel Boy". I must confess that I know that "Believe Me If All Those Endearing Young Charms" as a ballad became popular later than our timeline in this story, but I desperately wanted to use it because it is my personal favorite. Darcy found it apropos when he met Lizzy; I hope you did so, too. :)**


	6. All That This Entails

**Chapter 6**

**"All That This Entails"**

The day after that heavily windy day was the day of the Assembly. Rupert Bennet could hear the Longbourn ladies in the parlor a couple of doors away, excitedly discussing the dance and negotiating on various ladies' accoutrements for this evening as they cut, sewed and hemmed items. He grinned. Even for a reforming man as he, all this talk of lace and frills proved too formidable, so he left the ladies to themselves. Grateful that he could now at least hobble with a cane to his study, he went back to perusing the numerous diagrams, digests and notes on field improvements for Longbourn's benefit next spring. He paused when he heard Lydia throw another fit – then sighed ruefully when he heard her stomp away furiously. _Some ways to go yet,_ he thought morosely.

How delighted he was when his butler announced and ushered in Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy. After effusive greetings and well-wishes, the three gentlemen, all eschewing port, sat down for banter and such, with Mr. Bennet starting all by asking, "So, gentlemen, what brings you to Longbourn this morning? Should you not be primping and planning your dances, as my ladies have been for two hours now?"

Bingley laughed. "I would be much obliged, Mr. Bennet, if you can convince Darcy to attend. He is uncomfortable in large gatherings of people he does not know, but I wish for him to practice!"

Darcy snorted and said crisply, "I am now entirely persuaded to go, Bingley. Your sister declared that she too would stay in Netherfield to keep me _company_." Laughter followed. Soon, Mr. Bennet noticed Bingley's eyes often darted to the door, as the din of ladies' voices floated around them. Thus, he called for a footman to lead their guest to the parlor where he may be announced to the family. "Jane and Lizzy will be there for introductions, sir … and Mr. Darcy, if you could wait but a moment, I would like your thoughts on some farming changes I have in mind for Longbourn." Bingley immediately jumped at the chance, and with a smiling bow to the two "farmers", eagerly set off to meet the ladies of Longbourn.

Mr. Bennet had actually noticed a curious crease between Mr. Darcy's eyes at the mention of his daughters' names, but an even more interested gleam at the prospect of discussing farming. It amused Mr. Bennet that such a wealthy, well-known member of the Ton could be such a simple farmer at heart.

Thus the next several minutes were steeped in essays of crop and farm trends, right to the concept of machine farming to which Darcy largely subscribed. "Industrial progress will not be deterred," he declared. "We started already on a portion of Pemberley – and if that section performs well by harvest's end, we will certainly look more into it."

Mr. Bennet nodded thoughtfully, not even realizing he had sighed wistfully. Longbourn's finances would not allow too bold a risk … but could he afford not to do it? His father had left Longbourn in fair health, but during _his_ own tenure as master, he had let the profits slide shamefully. Now here he was, with no money for his daughters, no margin with which to work out some improvements on his fields, no means to ensure that his widow would have amenities available to her upon his demise. _And then there is the entail ... _

Darcy saw the struggle in Mr. Bennet's eyes. He had actually cursorily inspected Longbourn's fields as he and Bingley came, and wondered at their obvious underachieving. He knew Mr. Bennet to be an intelligent man – could it be that such intelligence did not transfer to land matters? That could not be so, as here was the man now, thoroughly conversant in all things agricultural and very progressive in his way of thinking, even.

Seeing he was observed, Mr. Bennet smiled. "You are wondering what I am about," he said with a sigh. "Suffice it to say that I did not find Longbourn to my liking, Mr. Darcy … and even much less the negligent man that was me before this memory loss. Horrid as it was, I cannot help but think that this event was a blessing in disguise. Still … Longbourn hardly has enough to invest in the technology I so desire, and yet I feel we must. I just have not figured out a way."

After a pause, Darcy noted, "This may not be ideal, but … mortgage?"

Mr. Bennet shook his head. "Entail."

"Oh." Silence. "Investor?"

"Possibly," replied Mr. Bennet absently. Then he straightened up sharply, suddenly realizing what that calculating look was on his companion's face. "No, Mr. Darcy, absolutely not. Not you," he stressed. "You hardly know me, you have no idea about Longbourn. You cannot be so rash in this, young man." And he added sternly, "And I will not take a charity offering."

Darcy laughed. "I would hardly be so rash, sir, and it would not be charity if I expect my full return plus profit in due time. But to make you feel better, Mr. Bennet, I will take a long hard look first at Longbourn fields and records before I commit. Meantime, we may identify ways and means for the estate. I promise full disclosure if you do the same." He reached his hand across the desk and awaited the older gentleman's response. Mr. Bennet just stared. _This was the kind of man I wanted to be,_ he thought, _a man of fortitude._

A long minute passed. Darcy kept his smiling stance before Mr. Bennet, his hand still outstretched. Then coming to a decision, Mr. Bennet reached out, shook hands and remarked, "Well then, I think we had best start with you calling me Bennet, or Rupert if you like."

Darcy chuckled. "Bennet it is."

"And in the interest of full disclosure …" Mr. Bennet – or Bennet now to Darcy – pulled out from a locked drawer an item in oil cloth, which he gingerly peeled. It was a journal, a very old one, by the looks of it. Darcy waited for his friend to speak, which was several seconds later. Finally, a whisper.

"Bear with me, Mr. Darcy. This journal only came to me recently – how it did is not important right now, but the receipt of this book was what led me to London two months ago on a business trip. According to my brother Gardiner of London, I brought my daughter Elizabeth with me to acquaint her with details if – and only if – I found viable proof to the assertions contained herein, although he knows no other particulars. Obviously, my accident prevented me from uncovering anything."

He then gently leafed through its pages to come to the last page in the book, and handed it to Darcy to continue his narrative. "The owner of this journal was a man named Stuart Bennet Collins, my father's close cousin. He held the entail to Longbourn, so the estate should have gone to him had my father not produced male issue. Stuart Collins lived and married in Berkshire, where he had a son, a William Collins the first, who upon his father's death would have been the holder of the entail. But he passed away not six months ago, himself leaving behind a son, also named William Collins, of Kent. He is presently my heir. The entail ends with him."

Bennet took a deep breath. "Stuart Bennet Collins died in 1765, only three months after he married a Sallie Hanson. I was five years old at that time. Read the last two entries please, Mr. Darcy."

The date was May 25, 1765. Darcy read aloud: "The child … is not mine. How utterly devastating to know, with no room for doubt, that the child cannot be my own. Sallie was already with child before we united. She admitted it to me herself, bold-faced and arrogant … the face of a whore there ever was or will be! I reject her and her demon-child."

Darcy's eyes became round – these were clearly the words of an anguished man, but if true ...! Darcy continued reading.

"June 3, 1765 – I rejoice at least that my cousin Amos already has Rupert. I intend to release Longbourn from my claim to the entail, thereby cutting off Sallie's child as well. Tis simply honorable. That estate of many generations deserves one of Bennet blood. It may matter less if I could love the child, or at least the mother … but God forgive me, my love for her is dead, and I cannot love the child as my own. Is this a failing? I have been lied to and slandered, taunted to my face and back. As surely as I draw breath, I will see justice done."

Bennet whispered, "Two days later, Stuart Bennet Collins was dead. Fell down a flight of stairs in the solicitor's office, which he himself owned. There were whispers of Sallie Hanson pushing him off, but no real evidence to merit the incarceration of a pregnant woman."

"This means that the present William Collins is not the true heir!" Darcy declared softly.

Bennet nodded. "If I can prove that ..." he said, thumping two fingers on the desk.

"You free up Longbourn for your family and generations to come." And the two gentlemen beamed at each other.

* * *

><p>While Elizabeth was wondering what business Papa had with Mr. Darcy that would warrant them being sequestered in the study for nearly an hour now, she was also enjoying the sight of her sister Jane establishing rapport with Mr. Bingley. Jane's color was charmingly high, and Mr. Bingley seemed rightly smitten, causing Mrs. Bennet to fly right into raptures, though thankfully sufficiently contained ... for now. "Five thousand a year!" Mrs. Bennet made a preening whisper in Elizabeth's ear. "Goodness gracious, I shall go distracted!" Elizabeth tried her best to discreetly shush her mother, and was successful only to an extent. <em>Papa, help me out here<em>, she quietly pleaded.

In truth (and even Lizzy suspected this to be so), Mr. Bingley was totally oblivious to everyone else's presence except Jane's. They had transferred from the parlor to the east drawing room, away from all the sewing messes the ladies had made, and when they came there, Mrs. Bennet at once machinated seating such that Jane and Mr. Bingley sat alone in a far corner in relative privacy. Mary was wont to look on disapprovingly, but Elizabeth quelled her judgmental thoughts, saying, "We are in the same room, Mary. You should know they are not doing anything wrong."

Kitty had grown a little shy without the boisterous influence of Lydia, but was thrilled herself, even whispering to Elizabeth as any excitable young girl would, "He is a most handsome man, Lizzy!" Through all this, Elizabeth did not miss the enraptured look on the faces of the two concerned, and for that she rejoiced.

As she wondered again about her Papa's absence and cycled between sneering at the thought of_ Mr. High-and-Mighty-Not-Handsome-Enough-To-Tempt-Me Darcy _and rebuking herself for uncharitable thoughts about someone she had not even met, the welcome sound of footsteps came from the hallway, and then that of her father barking a short but full-bellied laugh. That took Elizabeth by surprise. She had not heard such joviality from Papa for as long as she could remember, and how welcome it was! Her father's laugh was followed by a lower, softer one, akin to a rumble of thunder just overhead – powerful, fascinating, and commanding one's attention. Elizabeth could not help – nor could she understand! - the little shiver that coursed through her even before the gentlemen entered.

Mr. Darcy was a tall, imposing man, the formality of his demeanor as he bowed in greeting belied by his eyes that were still sparkling in mirth at whatever had him and Mr. Bennet amused, and his lips curved softly into a smile. His eyes met Elizabeth's, and a flash of recognition glimmered.

Elizabeth forgot to breathe.

_Oh … he was the one who saved Mary from being trampled yesterday,_ Elizabeth said to herself. It was difficult to ascertain at first, for this Mr. Darcy was impeccably groomed, composed and cheerful - a far cry from the bedraggled, sodden rider of yesterday with a dark scowl and temperamental visage.

"Ladies," began Mr. Bennet, "this is Mr. Darcy. Darcy, this is my family, save one daughter who is indisposed. My wife Mrs. Bennet, my eldest daughter Jane, Kitty over there, and Mary and Lizzy." As each lady curtsied, Darcy's eyes locked with Lizzy's, and while his smile faltered, his eyes never did.

"We … have met," he said quietly. His gaze slowly turned to Mary as though making sure she was not truly harmed from yesterday, and he gave her a faint smile - then ever so gently, his eyes slid back to Elizabeth, as he minutely bowed and softly said, "Miss Elizabeth."

"Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth acknowledged, trying to thump down the unexpected frog in her throat.

Bingley cheerfully called his attention, and after a few more minutes at Longbourn, the gentlemen prepared to leave and let the ladies go back to their preparations for the Assembly. Bingley was quick to ask for the first set of dances with Jane, to which Jane replied a trifle breathlessly, "I would be honored, sir."

To Darcy's consternation, all eyes turned to him, even the men's. He squirmed, feeling the heat under his collar. This was the part that always made him uncomfortable – having to dance or even request one from ladies he had only just met. Yet, courtesy demanded he say something. Taking a deep breath, he turned to Elizabeth and inquired, "And, ah, may I have the same set, Miss Elizabeth?"

"You may, Mr. Darcy," she answered. From somewhere behind her, Elizabeth heard her mother give a blatant squeal of excitement and felt great mortification about it, as she saw a hard, guarded look steal over Mr. Darcy's features. With a curt bow, he turned and left the room, leaving Bingley to scramble after him.

Mr. Bennet was quite incensed at how indecorously his wife behaved. She stood astounded by the men's abrupt departure for a few seconds, then held her hands to her waist and declared, "How extraordinary!" Kitty giggled - and that was what finally set Mr. Bennet off. He spoke calmly but firmly to charge his wife of the proper comportment of a lady, not a fishwife. "If you still do not understand this, Mrs. Bennet, I would have you stay home this evening with your two youngest daughters so there would be no chance of uncouth, unseemly display like that squeal you just made that embarrassed our guests." With that, he turned to go back to work.

As he did so, he noticed Elizabeth standing by the side of the window, half-hidden by the drapes from the outside, where she was watching the two gentlemen mount their horses. Elizabeth had an eager, but almost wistful look about her face. _How strange_, thought Mr. Bennet to himself as he walked out. _Perhaps I should attend this Assembly myself.  
><em>  
>Indeed, Elizabeth's thoughts were on the stranger she had been determined to dislike. She remembered Kitty's remark about the handsomeness of Mr. Bingley, and giggled softly. <em>Mr. Bingley IS handsome, Kitty ... but Mr. Darcy - he is the most beautiful specimen of man I have ever seen! <em>

She blushed at her own thoughts, and embarrassed with herself, fled upstairs to her chamber where her journal awaited.


	7. Long Shadows of the Night

**Chapter Seven**

**"Long Shadows of the Night"**

The building where the Assembly was to be held was decked with many glittering lights that rendered it quite festive, but Darcy did not notice. He was too busy, as he had been the rest of the day after his visit to Longbourn, thinking about Bingley and Bennet, Longbourn and Netherfield, and making plans to help both friends and both estates while also taking care, albeit long-distance, of his own business concerns. Darcy had to admit that such busyness was almost like his life force - as natural to him as breathing - and it was that which led his closest allies, Bingley included, to declare that "Darcy would never marry, much less fall in love." He worked too much and socialized too little, and often too begrudgingly, they said. Those allegations Darcy easily brushed aside as inconsequential ... except where he knew it began to affect his little sister Georgiana, now sixteen years old, in the episode this summer in Ramsgate ...

_But that is a thought for another day, _Darcy forcefully told himself, shooing away the vestige of a heartbreak he began to feel anew, as the Netherfield carriage drew near the festooned building. Caroline Bingley made as if to grab Darcy's arm so that he would escort her in, but Bingley took her hand instead and put it on his arm, saying quietly, "Ah-ah, Caroline … we already talked about this. You are coming in with me. Not Darcy."

Unable to do anything but follow his lead, Caroline hissed, "Mr. Darcy will think that this Assembly is degrading to his stature, I tell you!" She was ignored, even amid the chuckle of her sister Louisa behind her, escorted by her husband Joel Hurst.

The din in the hall fell into a hush as the Netherfield party entered, and all eyes turned to them. Everything came to a standstill – even the musicians had stopped tuning their instruments – and Darcy felt the familiar heat creep around his neck. He would never get used to this. He only hoped he was successful in talking Bennet into coming tonight, and knowing that the older gentleman still could not remain standing for very long, much less dance at all, he had offered to sit with him and talk on some more on plans for Longbourn. He remembered Bennet chuckling at his insistence this morning. "You are not going to use me as shield against matchmaking mamas, are you, Darcy?" he inquired with a smirk.

To this, Darcy wryly replied, "For the Assembly, I admit it. But why do I get the feeling that you are actually leading me to one now?" Ah, the roaring laughter of Rupert Bennet was one of extreme surprise and approval as they approached the Longbourn parlor, and Darcy ended up laughing as well.

Now at the assembly, Darcy felt the eyes of the throng upon him as he made his way down the aisle. To his right, he somewhat gleaned Miss Elizabeth, standing there with an intent gaze on him, and he remembered that he asked her for the opening dance. _Goaded into it, _he reckoned quite annoyedly, but pulled back that thought as he took another look at the young woman who had her eyes down now. _At least she does look charming, _he thought, _and honestly would present a better prospect than suffering the fawning of Miss Bingley._

As Bingley moved to the Bennet ladies to introduce his sisters and brother, Darcy saw that Miss Elizabeth had gone, and looked around quickly to find her in preparation for the first set that he knew was getting ready to be played. His face broke into a smile when he saw where she was - right beside a familiar figure on one of the upholstered armchairs against the wall. With a grin and a bow to the clustered acquaintances, he walked over to where his new friend was.

"Bennet!" he called. "I am glad you have decided to come, as I have very definite need of your companionship, sir."

"Aye," Bennet responded with cheer, "and I have done what I could to lessen the combatants, Darcy. I come alone to escort three daughters this evening." He paused, then said more sedately, "You remember my daughter Elizabeth?"

Darcy bowed. "Of course. Good evening, Miss Elizabeth. I hope you have not forgotten our coming dance?"

Bennet was observing closely as Lizzy replied, noting the subtle color on his daughter's cheeks and her softer-than-usual voice. "Not at all, Mr. Darcy. Although ..." now came the familiar impish look in her eyes, and Bennet knew that his evening's entertainment was about to begin, "I know not why you would want to be caught dancing with someone not even handsome enough to tempt you, sir."

Darcy blushed, then paled – and it was all Bennet could do not to snigger at the flustered young man. He had learned of Darcy's faux-pas when he was in London and at that time had insufficient insight into Elizabeth's character to gauge how such an inadvertent insult would be taken … but now he girded himself to witness the interaction of two unquestionably intelligent individuals.

"Miss Bennet … ah, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy stammered, to his own horror. "You will need to pardon me, madam. I …"

Unfortunately, the first notes of the opening dance sounded, and as Darcy noted that Bingley had already taken Miss Bennet's hand for the dance, so was he compelled to also hold out his hand to Miss Elizabeth to lead her to the floor. As they walked to take their place, Darcy whispered, "You must let me explain, Miss Elizabeth."

Elizabeth, already feeling somewhat embarrassed at her own forwardness, sought to backtrack a bit, "Sir … I was just teasing. You owe me no explanation." Yet, even as she said this, she could not help the rush of triumph at having the gentleman so discomposed by herself. "It is I who must apologize … I speak too quickly sometimes, it seems."

"No, no," Darcy demurred. "It is actually a topic I had intended to visit with you, madam, though not in such a public event as this, and possibly not so soon. May we concentrate on the dance for this time, Miss Elizabeth? I'm afraid we would not do the orchestra justice if we do not."

Elizabeth nodded, feeling a little thrill at his whispering near her ear and the warmth in his eyes. _Oh heavens, _she breathed to herself, _I could drown in those eyes. _And immediately, she pushed away her star-struck thoughts that made her feel stupidly like Lydia, and scolded herself, _Common sense, now!_

With a smile, she glanced over her shoulder at Papa … he, after all, had always been her rock, and she wanted that connection now.

Bennet saw the look she gave – and suddenly his mind was brought a picture of a smiling seven-year old Lizzy in a pale pink dress, kicking her legs up on a swing and glancing back to make sure that her Papa was there to catch her if she fell. His mind had finally picked up a memory … just one, but it was a start.

And to Rupert Bennet, it felt like a kiss from heaven.

* * *

><p>Darcy actually had an enjoyable dance with Miss Elizabeth. It started awkwardly enough, given that they were in the middle of a confession that was likewise– and given that Elizabeth was a little nervous. Too, there was the usually reticent Darcy who, hoping at least to present a better side of himself, exerted a little effort to find a common ground for conversation. "What think you of books?" he had asked, and congratulated himself on his success. For from there, despite Miss Elizabeth's assertion that she could not talk of books in a ballroom as her head was always full of something else, they covered a wide range of topics as the limited time of a dance would allow, even indulging in a good-natured argument about the sonnets of Shakespeare versus the sonnets of Philip Sidney - the eroticism of one and the purity of the other. But it was a topic that Elizabeth began to experience a great unease with, feeling as she did all the quickness of her attraction to Mr. Darcy, and so in as dismissive a tone as she could, she remarked, "The noble Sidney can have his sunshine and flowers all he wants; as for me, I see all of the Bard's shifting shadows ahead, and pronounce him all the more real."<p>

Sensing her tire of the subject, Darcy bowed to her and remained quiet.

At length, as the gentleman led Elizabeth from the dance floor, he was able to ask her about the previous day's incident with Mary and Cadmus. "I apologize for my high-handedness that time. I caused more distress to Miss Mary, though it _was_ out of fear," he acknowledged. "My steed can be a temperamental beast. But you and Miss Mary have recovered from the ordeal?"

"Oh … yes, sir – in fact, we owe you our thanks, though it be rather late," Elizabeth replied. "It was just that … well, Mary is shy, and it is only recently that she is coming out of her shell. I do loathe the thought of a setback. I feel responsible for her." This she said with a sigh, as she glanced at Mary sitting with their father, eyes cast down and looking so very young and uncertain.

At once, Darcy's heart lurched, thinking once more of his sister. Miss Elizabeth's words reverberated in his own mind as far as he felt about his role in his sister's life, and stayed with him as he brought his partner to her family. Even before he knew what he was doing, Darcy turned to Mary and gently asked, "Miss Mary, would you honor me with the next dance?"

"I don't … ah … I mean, yes, Mr. Darcy," Mary stammered, looking at Elizabeth who in turn beamed with pleasure. At that, Mary stood and curtsied quickly before almost running to another young lady from the neighborhood. Mr. Bennet smiled his thanks at Darcy who, with a neat bow to the Bennets, turned to the refreshments table. _This is for Georgiana, _Darcy thought, and ruefully smiled as he tried to ignore the stupefied face of Miss Caroline Bingley.

It should be noted that after her dance with Mr. Darcy, Mary Bennet was never short of requests for a dance in this assembly again.

Bennet watched him walk away, a pensive look on his face. Then he looked up at Elizabeth – she too was looking at the young gentleman with a smile. Gently, he took her hand and invited her to sit down. She did.

It took Rupert Bennet a long minute to speak, and when he did, his voice was hardly more than a whisper. "You were seven years old. I remember this. You had on a pink dress that was already six inches deep in mud. You were on the swing, but you knew I was nearby. While still up in the air, you jumped, so very, very sure that I would catch you. And I did, even though I panicked. I held you close to me, right next to my heart, and promised I would never let you fall, my Lizzy."

He looked into her eyes, emotion lining every word. "I am not certain this is one time I can stop you from falling, Elizabeth. Please take care."

Elizabeth looked deep into the face of the first man she had ever loved. "Oh, Papa, you remember," she whispered, and laid her head on his shoulder that had always seemed so strong and reassuring to her, and she smiled up at him. "I will be careful."

All he could do was pray amidst the long shadows of the night.

* * *

><p>In a parsonage in Kent, about fifty miles away from Meryton, a tall but portly man sat alone in the parlor of his home, and at times he would get up to pace. It was another restless night. The room was brightly lit, as he cared not for the expense of lighting all ten candles to add to the glimmer of the roaring fire on the hearth. William Collins could not abide the dark … and for that reason, always kept a nightcap laced with laudanum so he could rest. Still, he knew it was a losing battle. He craved sleep. He craved peace. He always got neither.<p>

All he could think about most nights was a voice, down to the last mocking … sneering … calling him names. The man he knew as his father. And the last that he could remember of that night six months ago was tightly holding down a pillow on the face of the man who struggled for a time – and then no more.

"Dead men tell no tales," he murmured as he drained the last of his nightcap, ignoring at last the long shadows that felt to him like the shrouded Death phantom awaiting command to swing the sickle at him.


	8. Remembrances

**Chapter Eight**

**"Remembrances"**

Days flowed quietly in Hertfordshire, and relations between Longbourn and Netherfield strengthened mainly because of the gentlemen of both houses. The Netherfield ladies were less than thrilled at the sort of social connections they were fostering in the bucolic countryside, and could not quite fathom the fascination of their two eminent gentlemen with their neighbors. They invited Jane Bennet one afternoon for tea (when the men were absent), purportedly to acquaint themselves further with her, but in all truth to have the opportunity to display their superiority. However, Jane had been somewhat briefed by her father who remarked, "Remember, Jane, there are nuances to words and gestures that will reveal what others really think of you. I believe that neither Miss Bingley nor Mrs. Hurst is as amiable as their brother. I ask only that you observe closely." This she did, and realizing how puny the sisters truly viewed her consequence, declined to stay beyond the polite teatime norm. _That was fortunate, _Jane thought, as the drizzle of earlier had turned into a downpour by the time she was halfway home. _I am glad Papa made me bring the carriage, instead of riding horseback as Mama insisted …_

As for Mr. Bennet, his mornings were spent poring over documents and plans, often with Darcy with him in the study. At other times, they would ride out into the fields for review – and next thing anybody knew, Longbourn was making plans for crop mix change for the next spring planting, enclosures and fodder crop introductions in lieu of fallow. A few new equipment were also planned for purchase, to try out in a small portion of the holdings first. Longbourn was small enough to ensure that none of the tenants would be displaced (which was Bennet's worry), but would in fact engage them deeper into property management. Prospects looked exceedingly well, indeed.

Bennet had also talked about various investments with Darcy, and to his pleasure found that their views on most opportunities very much coincided, validating his growing confidence about sinking in money, little by little as profits and savings allow, into such ventures. "Not too much, mind you," he cheerfully told Darcy. "I have little by way of liquids, but I realize I should not depend on land alone." Darcy nonetheless expressed his undiluted confidence in the older gentleman's investment decisions.

Bingley occasionally joined the two gentlemen on such discussions, but for the most part, he contented himself with keeping the ladies company, whether on walks or refreshments in the parlor. His attention to the eldest Bennet daughter was quite marked, sending Mrs. Bennet into raptures that had to be reined in. Mr. Darcy was more difficult to pin, being so reserved, but Mrs. Bennet - having heard of the gentleman requesting a dance from Mary during the Assembly - continued to push him towards Mary and was always extremely vexed when the gentleman would adroitly spurn her plans and get into witty exchanges instead with Mr. Bennet and Lizzy. They, indeed, were the only ones who could keep up with him.

As for Elizabeth, the mad flare she felt for Mr. Darcy had settled into a warm respect, and she knew in her heart that her feelings could be more if she let free rein. But she promised to be careful, and careful she was. She knew she could expect nothing more than being viewed as his friend's daughter. It made her sad sometimes, especially in the quiet spaces of the night when she could think more clearly ... _but it is what it is._

Meantime, the girls' education continued, and to everyone's delight, each found a niche of expertise to help out the others. Everyone, that is, except Lydia, for the youngest Bennet continued in her surly manner and would have fits of tantrum, despite all sisters trying to engage her in various pursuits. Kitty was much improved in her disposition and had, in fact, come to her father one morning to say, part in shyness and part in pride, "Thank you, Papa … I had not known what I was missing before." Rupert Bennet unashamedly cheered; his daughter just spoke to him in near-flawless Italian.

This was how the Bennet girls' talents coalesced: Jane had a beautiful soprano voice, heretofore undiscovered but once unwrapped, the owner found the confidence to help train her sisters in breathing and harmonization. Elizabeth had the affinity for languages, literature, and philosophy, and in those areas, she effectively wielded tools to lead her sisters in discussions that encouraged them to think and debate rationally. Elizabeth also understood most clearly the principles of estate management and home economics, and imparted knowledge as best as she could to her sisters while also qualifying herself to her father in various tenant and homestead issues.

Mary and Elizabeth contributed equally to everyone's music education, for Elizabeth was a natural musician even if Mary was the more disciplined of the two. Mary, surprisingly, was a formidable opponent in debate, especially when it touched philosophy, religion and politics. Here, Mr. Bennet and Mary had an exceedingly enjoyable ground to cover. Finally, sweet Kitty, now preferring Catherine, was the artist, having an instinctive eye for shadowing, coloring and transference of emotion and mystery on canvass. Many of her artworks were now framed and hung in the ladies' bedchambers, and some in her father's study. Her view of world history, which also was a regular fare in their reading, was always through the lens of the art predominant in each era they were studying.

One evening, Rupert Bennet told the girls how exceedingly proud he was of them - this time in French which they also desired to learn ... "just in case we meet a Napoleonite," Elizabeth joked.

* * *

><p>It was many days later when Rupert Bennet sat in his darkened study. There was something he had not yet told his family - he knew he would, as soon as his brain could wrap around it. He was finally regaining his memory ... unconnected bits at first, but gaining more and more construct as days progressed.<p>

Should he not be jubilant? Yet all he felt was dullness, and he knew it had to do with how remembered treating his wife before ... and now. No change. Rupert had not asked Janine into his study for three days now, and frankly it was because he was tired of his expectations not being met with her. _Therein lies the problem, _Rupert sighed_. My expectations are too high, or absolutely of the wrong things. Take lessons from the past, and hold fast to them._

Rupert admitted how he had simply given up on Janine when she could not keep up with his high-falutin ideas. He had completely ignored her giftings: her beautiful singing voice that Jane inherited, and the innate artistry that was the hallmark of Kitty - nay, Catherine - now. His parents were kinder to Janine than he had been, especially his mother who taught her daughter-in-law how to set a good table and decorate a home. It shamed Rupert to remember this. When the elder Bennets died three years of each other, Janine was the most devastated one … and Rupert recalled how, on his mother's deathbed, Janine had sworn when she thought no one heard, "I will bear him a son, Mama – Longbourn will stay in our family forever." Janine was with child then – the last of the Bennet offsprings, if that had lived. Another girl. And Janine was inconsolable in her belief that she failed Longbourn.

But Rupert realized he was the one who failed, and hoped to God he could make everything right. He would start again with Janine tomorrow - perhaps with an altered approach. Rupert sighed. There too was another issue he could work on: reclaiming Longbourn for posterity. Rupert closed his eyes as he remembered the family history related to him countless times.

* * *

><p><strong>The year was 1738.<strong> Rupert's great grandfather Edward Bennet, third generation master of Longbourn, had for years always cleaned up the mess his dissolute second son Jeffrey often left. Now Jeffrey's debt trouble was so deep that Edward had to sell a part of Longbourn holdings (that which was now Lucas Lodge) to rescue him. Edward was furious. Why, oh why, could Jeffrey not be like his twin brother Henry, who early on had already taken on tasks for Longbourn? Why could he not display the same sense of honor? And why, oh why, could he not control his six-year old son Stuart, who had that ungovernable temper, and make him more like Henry's three-year old Amos with the tractable disposition? Why, why, why?

Such was the disagreement between patriarch Edward and progeny Jeffrey one evening, that physically standing between them was all Henry could do lest father and son hurt each other. Jeffrey was shouting, "I know I will never match Henry, Father! He is perfect ... the perfect son, the perfect heir, the perfect father to his perfect Amos, and even to my own imperfect Stuart, he is the perfect uncle. I weary of hearing it, Father. I cannot be him!"

He turned desperate eyes to Henry. "I have nothing against you, Brother. You are all that is kind and good, and you have always treated me with honor. I love you ... but I can never measure up. So let me go. I have to be my own man. I need a name distinct from yours." He looked at his father then, his eyes tired and pleading. "Please, Father. If I am to be anything at all, even a better father to Stuart, I must go."

"Where, Jeffrey? Where will you go?" croaked his brother.

"To Berkshire. My wife's family is there ..." Jeffrey swallowed. "As soon as I am settled, Henry, I will write. It will not be forever."

Long moments ticked by, and finally, Edward Bennet, chest heaving with emotion, took his second son by the shoulders to kiss him on the forehead. "Go," he whispered, and turned away. It was the last time he saw his child, for two months later, he passed.

Jeffrey Bennet henceforth became known as Jeffrey Collins, having taken his mother's name, and lived in Berkshire and prospered as a solicitor. He did keep in touch with his twin brother Henry, with whom he was always on the most affectionate of terms, and their sons Amos and Stuart were as close as cousins could be. And there was no recrimination at all when the last will and testament of their father Edward, with a conveyance document attached to it and properly attested, said in its archaic language, " ... And be it that Longbourn shall pass to Henry James Bennet and heirs male of his body, and failing that, to Jeffrey Bennet Collins, born Jeffrey John Bennet, and heirs male of his body, provided that possessor shall take and retain the name of Bennet ..."

The entailment had begun.

A copy of this family document was always kept in the Longbourn strongbox, and another liveried to Jeffrey and his heirs. Rupert now felt an itch to touch it, as though to strengthen his connection with all things familial and historical. He met cousin Stuart a few times when he was very young, remembering not a man with a wild temper, but a genial one brimming with humor, wisdom and general contentment in life. His father Amos mourned Stuart's death deeply and tried his best to take care of his son and widow. But that widow attempted to seduce Amos, and her son, William by name and five years younger than Rupert, was incredibly mean-spirited and conniving, that in the end, there was naught that Amos could do but banish them from Longbourn.

And now Rupert was confronted with the question of William's lineage. Amos Bennet had no notion of this at all, for the journal that Stuart Bennet kept had been lost behind crates of documents in an old building, and was only recently retrieved by a custodian endeavoring massive clean-up and promptly sent to an address found therein: To Amos Bennet, Longbourn Estate, near Meryton, Hertfordshire.

* * *

><p>Rupert awoke with a start, not even realizing that he had fallen asleep through all of last night's ruminations. He was still in yesterday's clothes, and fired at once with newfound resolutions for a brand-new start, he got up at once to refresh himself. His legs bothered him more this morning, perhaps because of the settling cold weather ... so gingerly, he hobbled to the door, only for it to be swung open vigorously by Mrs. Bennet.<p>

"Oh, Mr. Bennet!" she cried in agitation. "What can this be about? What can that man mean by writing to you?"

Confused, Rupert asked, "Of whom are you speaking, madam?"

She thrust a sealed letter to his face. "Your cousin, sir! Or specifically, your cousin's son, Collins the younger! This came by express just now ... and now you have to open it and ... oh, just read what it says, Mr. Bennet, before my nerves give way."

Himself curious at the uncanny timing of it all, Rupert at once tore open the letter, and as he read, a hard glint came to his eyes, though his mouth curved into a smile. "Well, my dear, I hope that you have ordered a good dinner today because we shall be expecting this cousin's company this evening, as for the whole of ten days. What think you of such an inconvenience, my dear?"

Mrs. Bennet fairly flounced into an armchair peevishly. "Oh! I cannot bear to have his presence mentioned!" she declared. "That odious man. But I suppose I must speak to Hill." And she left the room to lament to Hill about their much unwelcome guest.

Rupert thought on the contents of the letter once more. "A proffered olive branch, he says!" he muttered. "Hrmph, what a joke! He intends to make one of my girls his bride ... and that, you old fool of a Collins, will only happen when hell freezes over!" And with a more determined stride than ever before, he left his bookroom to prepare for the day.

Over breakfast, the announcement of a coming guest was made, and Lydia for once got over her sulkiness to exclaim: "Oh, it shall be so merry, I am sure! Another gentleman come to visit, to add to the excitement of having the militia quartered here for the season! La! We shall have ever so much pleasure! Lizzy, we met some of the officers yesterday, did we not?"

"Yes, we did, Lyddie, and please do comport yoursel ..."

"Oh, pshaw!" Lydia interrupted with a dismissive flick of her wrist. "Tis harmless flirting, is all. I thought Mr. Wickham ever so handsome ... and your proud, disagreeable friend owes him an apology, Papa, for being so rude. He turned his horse around once he saw Mr. Wickham, and did not even acknowledge the poor man. I asked Mr. Wickham later about it, and he said Mr. Darcy used him so very ill, though he would not give details. I felt my heart break for him just so!"

Mr. Bennet wanted to roll his eyes at such histrionics, but was very much diverted by a picture of Darcy being disagreeable. He caught Lizzy's eye, and she mouthed, "Later." Rupert Bennet nodded. There indeed was more to this than met the eye.

_I am on fact-finding mode these days,_ he said with a rueful sigh, and amused himself thus by quoting the Bard: _Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more._


	9. A New Day

**Chapter Nine **

**_"_****_A New Day"_**

Darcy allowed Cadmus to run furious and free through the open fields of Hertfordshire, and in the gentleman's heart, a storm brewed fiercely that he could not quell. _Wickham is here, that fiend – in the militia!_ Darcy snorted. _Stupid dolt. I will have Michael look into this regiment. My cousin did not reach Colonel in the regulars without gaining some influence even in militia – and I am certain he would welcome the chance to wrap his hands around Wickham's unscrupulous neck._

He rode to Oakham Mount, a pleasant viewing plateau just outside of Meryton, and to his surprise found his friend Bennet and Miss Elizabeth there. True, he had often seen Miss Elizabeth out on her walks (as he later learned that the activity was the young lady's favorite pastime) and had even spoken to her on occasion (as that morning when he took the time to explain his rude and insulting comment in London), but it seemed that this morning, father and daughter were there by design. Bennet was leaning on the boulder where Miss Elizabeth sat. Were they waiting for him? Darcy dismounted.

They did away with some weather small-talk, then Bennet went straight to topic. "Darcy. Tell me about Mr. Wickham."

Immediately, Darcy tensed, and try as he might, could not keep a bite from his reply. "Why not first tell me what you know, Bennet? You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns." As he spoke, Darcy glanced at Miss Elizabeth – he knew his resentful tone brought to the fore the rudeness that Miss Elizabeth was initially acquainted with, and true enough, an annoyed look suffused the lady's countenance and she openly glared at him.

But Bennet calmly replied, "I am not your enemy, Darcy. You know this. But Wickham has been spreading words about you, and the main audience of his choice seems to be my daughters."

Darcy's eyes flashed and he turned sharply towards Elizabeth. "Stay away from him, Miss Elizabeth," he said tersely.

Elizabeth crossed her arms and arched her brows, pushed beyond decorum at such an imperious air from one quite unconnected to her. "Pray, tell me why, Mr. Darcy," she demanded.

"Because it is not safe!" he replied, and thought that _that _was that.

This only served to aggravate Elizabeth more, however. "That is not good enough," she retorted. "My youngest sister seems very much taken with Mr. Wickham, though she is not yet out. The man already knew of your presence here in Hertfordshire even before my sister accidentally met him in the milliner's shop the other day. He knew of you, Mr. Darcy, and immediately told all in the vicinity how you have denied him a living and reduced him to poverty."

"Those are lies," Darcy gritted. He was not used to being challenged by females like so, and this young lady seemed bent on doing just that. "If I know Wickham at all, he deliberately met up with your sisters, for I am certain he has already heard of my friendship with your father, and has come to spread his venom. But I do trust your father's judgment, as I hope to be able to trust yours."

"Oh, my judgment is sound, Mr. Darcy, for I did not believe Mr. Wickham," Elizabeth rejoined, "but your arrogance in this manner, your conceit, and your seeming disdain for our feelings – these are hardly helping your case here, sir." That last statement surprised Darcy, and mentally he shook his head. Elizabeth herself seemed aghast at her own audacity and combativeness, and tried to pull back her harshness with a plaintive, "Mr. Darcy, please." She raised her soulful eyes at him, and Darcy, despite himself, could not look away. _What is it about this girl - or me - that cause us to always argue?_ he thought with exasperation.

"Darcy, that is enough." It was Bennet. "We are not seeking a fight, but elucidation."

Darcy paused, his eyes still pinned on Elizabeth - but after a while turned slowly to look at Bennet. "Pardon me," he said quietly. "I do not disdain your feelings, Bennet – nor yours, Miss Elizabeth. If anything, I share them." He gazed into the horizon and added, "Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends – but whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain."

"Then tell me what you can, Darcy ... if only for the fact that Lizzy seems to be a particular target of Wickham, for some pernicious reason of his own." At this, Darcy turned to look at Miss Elizabeth, and he saw her color rise even as she cast her eyes down.

"Has he hurt you, Miss Elizabeth?" he asked humbly. Elizabeth shook her head. Darcy pressed on. "Frightened you?" Elizabeth looked up and nodded slowly.

Darcy sighed. Tiredly, he sat down on Elizabeth's rock and, after a long silence, spoke softly. "You are correct in saying that fair warning is in order as far as Wickham is concerned. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man ..." and there Darcy laid out his story to an unmoving, unspeaking audience who found horror after horror in all that Darcy had to reveal: the son of a beloved steward, raised almost as a brother to the Darcy heir whom he insidiously and repeatedly tried to usurp; a sense of entitlement on the part of that young man that brought him to gamble, drink and pursue dalliances with village girls, even forcing himself on some (here Darcy sent an apologetic glance to Miss Elizabeth, who responded with a tiny smile); the privilege of a gentleman's education that became opportunity for dissipation instead, and so on.

"My father was faithful to Wickham to the end," Darcy breathed, "and upon his death left to Wickham's choice the taking up of the valuable living somewhere. Wickham refused it, preferring three thousand pounds instead in addition to the thousand pound bequest. When his money had run out, he attempted to wrest back the living. I refused … and he took revenge on me," Darcy said, softly adding, "through my sister."

Elizabeth gasped and instinctively sought to comfort the distraught man with a gentle hand on his arm. Darcy smiled gratefully and did not even realize he had taken that comforting hand in his as he continued his narrative, once more with a faraway look.

"I had raised Georgiana for the most part alone," he whispered, "and I thought it to her advantage that she journey to Ramsgate last summer, with a companion who I found out later had colluded with Wickham to seduce my sister and have her elope with him. No doubt they had their thoughts on her dowry, which was thirty thousand pounds. It was simply lucky timing on my part that foiled their plan and averted the worst that could happen to a young girl. My sister was just fifteen - a child! What misery would have awaited her had Wickham succeeded! I should have warned her about Wickham … I should have told her … I should …" Darcy swallowed back his anguish, and turned to look squarely at Elizabeth for the first time throughout his narration and whispered. "She lies completely broken now, Miss Elizabeth."

Unheedingly, slow tears trekked down Lizzy's cheek – and just as instinctively, Darcy brushed one lone drop with his thumb and gave her a gentle smile. "Georgiana would have been very fortunate to have a fiery sister like you, madam."

Elizabeth smiled tremulously. "I think she is fortunate enough, sir," she replied. "She has you." And with a final squeeze of his hand that still held her own, she stood up and said, "Thank you, Mr. Darcy," and started back to Longbourn with a nod to both her father and the gentleman.

Darcy watched her walk away, and at once seemed to realize how intimate the gestures he had taken with the lady - in front of her own father, no less! He turned to his friend. "Bennet. Forgive me …" he began.

"Nothing to forgive," Bennet interrupted. "A warm, friendly gesture, that is all. Elizabeth has always been one to extend such to those who deserve it." He reached out his hand to shake Darcy's, adding, "Thank you for your openness, Darcy. We will keep your confidence, and do what we can as regards to Wickham. I promise." And with that, Bennet followed his daughter down the Oakham trail.

_I know you will, _Darcy thought, and for the first time in a long time, felt peace descend on him, a reassurance that things would not be as bleak as they had been. He breathed in deeply and surveyed the quaint village below that was slowly waking up to the autumn day. Struck with resolve, Darcy whistled to Cadmus, and rode to Meryton to meet with a merchant or two ... _perhaps more._

* * *

><p>Charles Bingley listened unperturbedly to his sisters' furious rants and exasperated protestations, but he was adamant: Netherfield would host a ball in a week's time, and it was to be an elegant affair. Finally deciding he had heard enough of the women's tirades, he said nonchalantly as he buttered his toast, "if you are not up for it, sisters, Darcy had offered to invite his cousin Lady Josephine to act as hostess instead – would you prefer it?" He turned to them with as much of an innocent face as possible. "She would be escorted by her brother who is a colonel in the regulars, and I thought it would be a nice addition to the militia being here."<p>

These were strategic words on Bingley's part, as last night, he had brought up the idea of a harvest ball and asked Darcy's opinion. His friend had endorsed the plan, but had correctly surmised that his sisters would not be on board. "Feel free to use my name and the Fitzwilliams' if you think that would help, Bingley," Darcy had said.

It appeared that it did. Bingley watched with satisfaction as the color drained from Caroline's face at the notion of being usurped as premiere hostess – never mind that it would be in a backwater place as Hertfordshire – and be looked down upon as a failure by an illustrious personage as Lady Josephine. Quickly she rebutted, "Do not be ridiculous, Charles! You know we are more than capable! I simply do not see the need to impress people of no consequence. We should be wooing London, not this … this …"

"An estate owner must know his neighbors, Miss Bingley," Darcy said quietly as he entered the breakfast room. He had just come from his customary morning ride on Cadmus, with a side trip to Meryton, and heard the trend of conversation among the Bingleys. Deciding to aid Charles' cause, he said very deliberately, "Whether you like it or not, madam, Netherfield IS the premier estate in this part of the county, and it would be to Bingleys' advantage – and your own - for other estate owners and residents to recognize this fact. I am sure news of success would not take long to reach London."

As expected, this caused Miss Bingley to preen proudly. "You are right, Mr. Darcy, as usual. This will be quite an opportunity indeed." She paused, and took a step closer to him whilst batting her eyelashes as ladies of the Ton often did. Darcy wondered not for the first time how on earth ladies could ever think of that gesture as even remotely alluring, and felt himself recoil when she reached out a hand for him. "You will, of course, stand up with us, _Fitzwilliam_?" she purred.

Darcy vaguely saw Bingley roll his eyes and wanted to do the same – but instead, he spoke in a voice as deadpan as he could make it though he knew his eyes flashed with annoyance. "_Mr. Darcy_ would happily be among the honored guests, Miss Bingley," he said with emphasis, and with a bow left the breakfast room with the excuse that he needed to refresh himself after his run. As he walked away, he heard the echoes of Bingley's sharp reprimand toward his sister, and was thankful.

In his chamber, Darcy gratefully sank into his bathtub, the steaming water a balm to both body and spirit. His mind was still awash with thoughts of what transpired at Oakham Mount, then Meryton. He remembered the shock of the few merchants he spoke with, especially when within just a week or so of the militia's presence, Wickham had already racked up several pounds of debt. He thought about Georgiana, and he prayed she was doing well. He thought about Miss Elizabeth – her spirited defense and kindness towards himself - as well as Bennet's understanding and support. And then he thought about the upcoming Netherfield ball.

"Damned if I open the ball with you, Miss Bingley," he muttered, then grinned. "Miss Elizabeth it shall be for me."

* * *

><p>A pair of beady eyes fixed upon the father and daughter walking down Oakham Mount arm in arm. William Collins had seen them walk out early this morning from the manor and had stealthily followed them up to the plateau to see them meet up with another gentleman, but had been too far away to hear what they were discussing, and was afraid of being discovered eavesdropping if he were to steal closer. Thus he simply observed, his brows furrowing slightly when he saw the man take the lady's hand – affectionately, it appeared from where he was – but nonetheless, he allowed his lips to curl. <em>That woman I have determined to be mine since last night ... and so she shall be.<em>

Climbing up the mount when the others had left, Mr. Collins then surveyed all the land that he knew belonged to Longbourn. His mind taking a quick field inventory (just as he did of the objets d'art in the manor when he arrived yesterday), he unconsciously reached inside his pocket to pull out a wrinkled parchment – a letter in feminine hand. He frowned, then felt rage build inside his gut such that, at the pinnacle of that fury, he tore the paper into a hundred little pieces and scattered it to the wind, like an appeasement offering to whatever demons haunted his soul.

But appeasement did not come. Within William Collins' breast beat the fury of the years: his life was built on lies. And though that damning letter was gone, yet one line persisted in his brain – a scorching revelation that forever tainted his hands with another man's blood:_ You are not his son._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Mysteriouser and mysteriouser! Next, we look at Collins' background and find out whose son he is. Guesses? Aaaand .. Elizabeth and Darcy get closer from hereon, absence of arguments not guaranteed. Thank you for reading.<strong>


	10. The Plans of Men

**_Chapter Ten  
>"The Plans of Men"<br>_**

"Damn!" Rupert Bennet said under his breath as he threw down the express he received from his solicitor this morning. He had been looking forward to receiving news, hopeful beyond all imagination that his solicitor's investigators in Berkshire regarding the paternity of William Collins the elder would yield something tangible that would free up Longbourn for his family. Nothing did. As of right now, all official records from the parish of Stuart Collins, cousin to Rupert Bennet once removed, seemed to prove that Stuart indeed begat William Collins in October 1765, born to Sallie Hanson five months after Stuart died. And therein was the difficulty in establishing the burden of proof. Stuart had already passed when the purported son was born, and Sallie had also been gone many years now. An entry in a journal would hardly pass muster in a court of law, especially in the face of a last will from Stuart that was retrieved, recognizing his marriage to Sallie and his acknowledgment of forthcoming issue, and no official revocation of any sort. William Collins the elder had also died a few months ago, and it was uncertain if he knew anything about his origin – and naturally, it would be illogical to think he would be forthcoming about the whole matter at all.

And the present Mr. Collins? Rupert Bennet snorted. The man's presence at Longbourn was declaration enough of his intent to lay claim to the estate, Rupert thought. _I do not trust the man_, he said to himself. _There is something beyond the ridiculous fawning he displays – a cunning that in fact can be deadly. I just cannot fathom what it is …_

In the five days that Mr. Collins had been in Longbourn, Rupert Bennet had noticed how closely their guest watched Elizabeth, and had quietly warned his daughter about him, reminding her to always be in company with her sisters and to completely secure her chamber door at night. His other daughters he also warned, and for once was gratified with Lydia's pert comment, "La! I cannot abide him, Papa! He always smells to the high heavens!"

Mrs. Bennet was for a while excited to think of the possibility of one of her daughters (and yes, she pushed Elizabeth as a major candidate) being the future mistress of Longbourn. "Just think, Mr. Bennet!" she enthused. "We would not be thrown into the hedgerows upon your death! Oh, we are saved!"

Rupert had half a mind to retort, "But I just might outlive you, my dear!" but held back his tongue for the sheer unkindness of it. Instead, he said firmly, "Mrs. Bennet, under no circumstances are you to push any of our daughters towards Mr. Collins. Observe him – he is unfit for any of our children, for he is mean-hearted and stingy. What guarantee do you have that he will be possessed with enough kindness in his heart to keep you around once he is master, even with one of our daughters as mistress? The way I see it, Janine, this man _will _put you out, with no regard to anyone but his own whims. Do you understand?" Rupert knew he was harsh, but he needed to make a point.

The lady's lips quavered, and helplessly she stammered. "But … but … Mr. Bennet … Rupert …"

Suddenly in Rupert's heart blossomed a tenderness for this woman – a recognition of fears that he now understood had ruled her for so long, and probably with good reason. Quickly, precluding all protest, his arms circled his wife, ignoring the surprised gasp she gave. "Janine," he whispered, and felt her form relax somewhat in his embrace. "My dear, please. We will work something out. I promise. You will always have a home. I swear this to you." Yet even as he said that, the disappointment of this morning's communication with his solicitor overwhelmed him, which he quelched as quickly as he felt it rise … and then was rewarded by his wife's form melting into his.

They stood there for some time, holding each other like so – something they had not done for years. Rupert felt Janine sob softly against his chest, and was somehow gratified by such release, as he himself felt his eyes sting. _This is good, _he thought to himself. _This is cathartic. And I must tell her soon that I remember …_

"Oh … pardon me," said a very unwelcome voice, sniveling as usual but Rupert recognized a strain of calculation in his tone. "I thought I might find you here, Cousin Bennet."

"This is my private study, Mr. Collins," said Rupert curtly, hating the way the other man's eyes roved hungrily around the room. He resolutely put his wife behind him in a protective gesture, and continued to glare at the intruder. "You should not be here without invitation."

"Yes, yes, cousin, I understand," Collins simpered. "However, I thought I would help you look over the books today and review … well, I noticed that you are employing more machinery for the west fields bordering …"

"Stop right there," the master of Longbourn gritted, standing up to his full height, which still had the advantage over the other man's form, which was also tall and heavyset. "As long as I am master of the estate, Mr. Collins, I will do what needs to be done around here, with little reference to you beyond ensuring that I will not bankrupt Longbourn. Now," he stepped forward, "please go."

Collins cast a leery look at him, then with a smirk bowed and left the room. Rupert slowly turned around to face Janine, who wordlessly looked up at him, eyes shining as never before. Then with a gentle pat on her husband's cheek, she smiled and left as well.

They were not to know that Collins lingered at the hallway, swearing softly as he furtively watched the couple at a tender moment. _I suppose I shall have to rethink my strategy of making that Bennet woman my ally, _he said. _I am on my own._

He paused briefly to weigh options, then decided to lay these concerns for a while and concentrate, with a happy smile on his face, on the Netherfield ball coming up in two days. _I will make a move then … one way or another, Longbourn will be mine._

* * *

><p>Perhaps it behooves the reader to get a glimpse of what happened twenty-five years ago, to understand how events long passed played into our story now, though still unknown to our protagonist in the person of Rupert Bennet. In 1786, in a little out of the way cottage in Northfield outside of Birmingham, a woman's agonized cries and whimpers rent the quiet air one December night. Sallie Collins we know her name to be, although we first met her as Sallie Hanson who married Stuart Collins at fifteen and became widowed three months after. Hers was a story not for one of tender sensibilities, for from whence we last talked about Sallie Collins, she had lived as a bonnet maker in the open, but also as a woman of the night, hosting one soul after foolish soul in her own house, wherever that may be for the moment. She never stayed very long at any one place, and had only in the last few weeks settled in the outskirts of Birmingham. Her son William, or Willie, lived with her, and over him Sallie had always held obsessive control as far back as the lad could recall. He was often made to be her sentry - bodyguard, as it were – as she conducted her ignominious business. Willie grew up knowing nothing else but such a life, as he was in most things illiterate and only went so far as now being a junior apprentice at a nailmaker's shop in Birmingham.<p>

This cold night in 1786, the air in that sordid little cottage smelled stiflingly of blood and doom. In one room sullenly sat Willie, now twenty-one years old. Though by now inured to moans and cries of any nature emanating from his mother's chamber, he cocked his head curiously at the first sound of something akin to mewing at first, then turning into a newborn's cry. After a few minutes, the door opened and a young woman stepped out, wiping her hands on an already bloodied cloth. This was Hannah, a waif Sallie found years ago and had taken in as maid and assistant in her bonnet business. Though without the benefit of ceremony, Hannah was always considered by their unit as "Willie's wife."

"She wants you in there," Hannah now said softly to him. "She be losin' too much blood, and there's nothin' I can do. Women her age …"

"Women her age ought to be behavin' nothin' like a whore," Willie grunted, though he stood up. "And the babe?"

She smiled a little. "Twas stubborn," she replied. "Won't come out of Sallie easy, put up quite a fight. But t'is your momma that needs you now." She paused a while then continued with a whisper, "She be fadin' fast, husband. I am sorry, if that means somethin' …"

"It don't," came the terse reply, following her inside.

The flickering candles strewn around the room gave an eerie glow to everything. On the bed, a half-sitting Sallie lay immobile; beside her a squirming bundle – her brand-new baby. Yet even to Willie's eyes, there was nothing maternal in the scene … it seemed only that Sallie with her half-hooded lids looked upon the babe with a thought of conspiracy burning in her mind, that she transferred to Willie as soon as he came in. She did not speak, but weakly pointed to a small cedar box near a stand. Willie picked it up and grumpily laid it down beside the squirming babe on his mother's bed.

"Yours," she rasped, tiredly patting the box – yet finding energy enough to glare. "Longbourn … yours to claim, if ever. Cannot prove nothin' 'bout Stuart." Her chest heaved – pain shooting through her anew, disabling coherent speech for the most part. "And the babe … yours. Keep." Sallie was taking shallow breaths now, her disjointed words coming in grunts and despairing winces. "Must pretend … yours … for Longbourn …" And her voice faded away.

"What? Bloody hell, no! The brat ain't mine!" Willie roared.

"Husband …" Hannah warned softly.

"No, Hannah! I be no payin' the way for her whorin …!" he continued sharply.

"Willie …!" Hannah warned again, a trifle sharper this time. "Sallie … she is gone."

Willie looked confused for a while, passing his gaze from his mother to Hannah, to the now fussing infant on the bed. Finally comprehending all that was happening, he fixed a glare on his mother's now expressionless face … and he spat.

"Damn you, woman … damn you to hell," he hissed, and stomped out of the room into the woods outside.

Without hesitation, Hannah picked up the now fussing babe, and gently cooed to calm it down. "Mine," she whispered. "I will call you mine. And you will be William Collins the second ... son of my Willie ..."

And softly through the night that many years ago, Hannah hummed a lullaby incongruous with the shroud of death that draped across the room and the storm winds that shook the shutters.

* * *

><p>Netherfield Park was at its glorious best, with everything polished to high sheen. Elizabeth looked around bedazzled – nonetheless, she kept a suspicious eye on anyone donning a red coat. She hoped that Mr. Wickham would not be around … and the last she heard, the officer had been sent to London by his superior for an important task or other. She knew too that her father and Mr. Darcy, on separate occasions, had quietly warned Meryton merchants about Mr. Wickham, and slowly the cordiality that the village accorded to the affable officer evolved to suspicion and downright rejection. "A spurned fellow can be a dangerous fellow," said Mr. Bennet, and for that reason, Elizabeth was especially wary.<p>

"Are you looking for someone, Miss Elizabeth?" Charles Bingley said with amusement, as he saw Elizabeth twirl gently.

With a blush, Elizabeth laughed and replied, "Just admiring the general splendor, Mr. Bingley. Everything looks dashing. My congratulations, Miss Bingley," she said to the tall woman beside him who happened to be bedecked with the flashiest choker and bracelets that Elizabeth had ever seen.

"I am flattered, I'm sure," Caroline Bingley replied in a monotone, already bored with this Bennet woman who came in such a plain gown and with only minimal jewelry to adorn her body. Granted, her hair was nicely done, and the little flowers adorning her curls lent a charming air – for a country lass. Caroline inwardly snorted. _Such plebian company they all are,_ she groused, but immediately plastered a smile when she saw who was approaching their little group.

"Mr. Darcy! I am glad to be graced by your presence at last!" she cooed as she held out her hand, expecting a kiss to be bestowed upon it. Instead, Mr. Darcy, with obvious hesitation, took her fingertips, and bowed over it. Containing her slight embarrassment, Miss Bingley smiled a little shakily to their esteemed guest and said coquettishly, "The dancing is to commence soon, sir. Shall we join the line now?" This she said quite frankly, as she was certain that one of Mr. Darcy's stature would want to open the ball with the _premiere_ lady of the event: the hostess. While in Upper Society, a hostess would typically not dance in lieu of seeing to everyone's comfort, Charles did say that out here in the country, societal protocol could relax a little - and on this, Caroline was banking.

Darcy for his part seethed with indignation at the brazenness of the woman, and with a quick warning glance at Bingley, responded as levelly as he could. "That shall be at your discretion, madam, and your partner for the dance. As for me," he paused then turned to look at Miss Elizabeth, "Miss Elizabeth, I believe this dance is ours?"

"Y-yes, Mr. Darcy, of course," Elizabeth stammered, though she quickly recovered. There had been no prior arrangement between her and Mr. Darcy as regards to opening the ball – not that Elizabeth minded, of course, but at this point she felt she was being manipulated by the gentleman that he may simply avoid Miss Bingley. She did not like it – especially when out of the corner of her eye she saw Miss Bingley give her a deadly glare – but neither did she want to embarrass anybody by creating a scene. As she was led away by Mr. Darcy, she gave him a full-face frown. "Mr. Darcy! I am not a pawn that you can move as you please where you please! What is the meaning of this?"

Suddenly unsure, Darcy asked, "Have you promised the dance to somebody else, Miss Elizabeth? I would give …"

"That is not the point, and you know it!" Elizabeth huffed. "You cornered me into that dance, I suspect that you may avoid our hostess, and …"

"I do not deny it," Darcy interrupted.

"I do not appreciate being put in the middle!"

"It was ungentlemanly of me." Mr. Darcy stopped walking to face her fully.

"Yes, it was," Elizabeth said hotly.

"Forgive me. I sought a way out … and you were nearby, and I wanted …" his voice trailed away as Elizabeth glared at him, and Darcy blew out a short puff of breath. "I _am _very sorry, Miss Elizabeth. Truly." He stood there looking at the young lady quite contritely that Elizabeth had a vision of a little boy who got called out for a misdemeanor, and she suddenly wanted to laugh. Quickly diffusing the inclination, she looked hard at Mr. Darcy and spoke in a stern voice.

"Very well, Mr. Darcy. But do not presume anything about me, ever again!" Mr. Darcy's face lightened, smiling ever so slightly, and he bowed his thanks to his partner. Sighing, Elizabeth added, "Well … let me find my father first, sir, to let him know of this development. I promised to open the ball with him, you see."

At this Mr. Darcy suddenly grinned. "Oh. I already spoke with him, madam. In fact, he was the one who told me that his legs were giving him some trouble tonight, and wondered if I would be so kind as to take his place for the first set. See? He is just over there," he said, pointing to a spot in the room where there were sofas. Elizabeth looked over that way to find her father with a devilish gleam in his eye, to which Elizabeth quickly arched her eyebrows and pursed her lips in reprimand. Her father was laughing at her! Elizabeth sighed. _Boys … will be boys, _she thought with a shake of her head.

With a triumphant grin, Mr. Darcy extended his arm to the lady, and together they went to take their place among the other couples on the dance floor.

Some feet away, Mr. Bennet laughed. _Well, _he mused, _I wager that came with an argument … again._ He chuckled, and drained a small glass of wine with a happy feeling in his heart.

* * *

><p>Mr. Darcy was actually very nervous – which surprised even himself – but years of training taught him to hide that sensation very well. Earlier in the evening, as guests started streaming into Netherfield, Darcy did his best to avoid Miss Bingley. He stood by a far window where he would not be seen, and that was when he saw the Bennet carriage pull up. He smiled. <em>Ah, good company!<em> He watched as Mr. Bennet alighted gingerly, then one by one handed his ladies down, with Miss Elizabeth being the last down. When she straightened up, Darcy's breath caught in his throat.

_Why …. she is lovely!_ He suddenly thought of a fairy queen riding on a moonbeam, her white gown shimmering in the moonlight and her hair adorned with little scintillating lights that made up her crown. Her neck, long and supple … her form light and pleasing … _and oh, that laugh! It is the sound of joyful little bells …_

_Breath-taking._

Darcy stood there thunderstruck, feeling as though he was seeing the lady for the first time, and not anymore as his friend's daughter. He stared … and to his embarrassment, Miss Elizabeth looked up to catch him staring. She flashed him a luminescent smile, then waved. Darcy smiled … and stared some more.

Mr. Bennet saw the exchange and grinned.

Mr. Collins saw this also ... and fumed.


	11. From Light to Darkness

**Chapter Eleven**

**"From Light to Darkness"**

Charles Bingley could not be more pleased at how the Netherfield ball was progressing. He found the music superb, though they were local musicians, the decorations inordinately elegant as were the drinks and hors d'oeuvres, and the guests seemed to be enjoying themselves. Miss Bennet too looked pleased to spend most of the evening with him ...

On that thought, Bingley paused. He had again opened the ball with the eldest Miss Bennet (as Darcy had with the second), and had requested the supper set as well, and when he thought of asking for a third and even the last set, the young lady's father discreetly made him aware of already swirling rumors of an engagement between him and Miss Bennet - this was, after all, country society with attitudes decidedly simpler, more forthright, than in London.

"We are friends enough to be frank, Bingley," said the gentleman, "but if you are not prepared to demonstrate more than a fancy, then I request that you protect my Jane's honor, sir, as well as your own." Bingley saw the steady gaze of Mr. Bennet, and perceived an almost imperceptible nod from Darcy who stood next to them, and acquiesced with a gallant, though apologetic, smile.

"She is safe from me, my friend," he declared. "I do deem your daughter's honor as important as mine, thus I will choose to speak with you soon ... but not yet." And with a clap on Bennet's shoulder, Bingley turned to search for his next dance partner, Charlotte Lucas, a close friend of the Bennets.

Darcy and Bennet watched Bingley bow to Miss Lucas, and the former, thinking of the times that Bingley had fallen in love with one angel after another, quietly considered Bennet's warning appropriate, perhaps even fortuitous, and for that, his respect for the older gentleman increased. Nonetheless, all he voiced was a kindly thought, "He is a good man, Bennet ... if a little wet behind the ears." Bennet chuckled in reply, and in comfortable silence, the two gentlemen stood contentedly together to watch the dance.

By and by, both their attentions were riveted to another couple on the floor. The gentleman partner was going this way and that, contrary to both rhythm and general flow of the dance, and oblivious to the glares of other dancers. The lady, on the other hand, was trying desperately to guide and keep him on track while avoiding her toes being trampled upon by said gentleman. Both Darcy and Bennet teetered between chuckling and wincing when the lady again gasped in pain at another misstep of her partner, and as a result, both were recipients of the lady's embarrassed, yet also indignant, glare. Moreover, both spoke at the same time.

"Poor Miss Elizabeth," muttered one.

"Insufferable idiot," gritted the other. "And I am supposed to leave Longbourn to him."

Darcy turned to Bennet in surprise. "That gentleman is your heir?" he asked incredulously.

"It is not as if I chose him, Darcy," Bennet groused. "I was in fact trying to disavow the connection, if you recall."

"Heavens!" Darcy interjected softly, whilst staring at their subject. Then, his eyes narrowing pensively, he said softly, "This is quite providential, actually." He turned to a curious Bennet. "He introduced himself to me earlier, but I failed to make the connection ... The patron of his parish is my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh."

It was Bennet's turn to be surprised. "Oh?" he inquired. "That grand lady, whose beneficence is beyond all known or imagined, and by whose command the sun rises, is your relation?"

This time, it was Darcy who responded dryly, "It is not as if I chose her either, Bennet. Sometimes I do feel like disavowing the connection as well," and here Bennet chuckled amusedly, "however, I call this fortuitous because we just may have a means of finding out more about his family history. You informed me that investigation in Berkshire yielded nothing ... what about the place where this William Collins grew up? I do not know where that is yet ..."

"But you can glean information through your aunt ...?" Bennet added hopefully.

"Precisely," Darcy beamed, then became serious. "I hardly know if we would find something useful, but it may be worth a try."

"Indeed so," Bennet concurred, then added thoughtfully, "but I would not want to get between you and your aunt, Darcy ..."

"Not at all, sir ..." His voice suddenly began to trail away as the music faded, the dancers bowed, and everyone clapped ... and walking toward them now was a very flustered Elizabeth, obviously trying to get away from her dance partner who persistently had been trying to take her hand.

The blush in her cheeks, though it was partly from embarrassment, partly from exertion, lent a lovely bloom to her countenance ... _like the petal of a rose,_ Darcy thought, and literally had to stop himself from reaching out to touch her. Just the notion made Darcy color as well, and as his habit, he schooled his features to show an impersonal pleasure at her arrival. "Miss Elizabeth," he bowed with a small smile, which he totally discarded when he turned to her companion, "and Mr. Collins."

Darcy realized that Miss Elizabeth was more than embarrassed - he could not quite pin the emotion emanating from her, but it was indeed something that kept her from meeting his eyes and replying in her usual cheerful way, although he noticed that at once she held on to her father's hand tightly and whispered, "Papa ..." Immediately, Bennet's eyes darkened in suspicion, and he turned to the preacher sharply - but before he could say anything, Mr. Collins simpered on to his patroness' nephew.

"What a fine thing it is, Mr. Darcy," said he, "that we socialize like so! Your esteemed aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, would truly find it fitting. For indeed she has spoken many times of ranks - I as heir to a truly fine estate and soon, as God wills, betrothed to a fair maiden of my choosing ... and you, dear sir, already master of the renowned Pemberley and engaged to one so lovely as your cousin. My dear Mr. Darcy! The union of Pemberley and Rosings will be such as only the Ton can only dream!"

Darcy was shocked out of words for a few seconds as he stared at the smug countenance of that fool of a parson - and it was then that he noticed Miss Elizabeth briefly close her eyes in mortification, presumably at the idiotic behavior of her cousin. Again she pulled at her father's hand and begged, "Papa, Papa ... please, I feel rather ill ..." Again, Bennet made out to say something, but Darcy had by then been galvanized into action and, with a most intimidating glare at Collins, spoke coldly, albeit in low tones that only the closest company could hear.

"Are you this indecorous even on the best of days, Collins? You know not what you speak - and to boast of being an heir when the living master is standing right next to you shows a complete lack of civility that even Lady Catherine would be ashamed of! Betrothed, you say you shall be? Pity the woman for you." At this Collins lost his smirk somewhat, and he glanced quickly at the now pale Miss Elizabeth. Sudden understanding dawned on Darcy - and unaccountably, he felt anger rise within his chest. He took a step closer, if it were possible, causing the cleric to take a step back.

"One more thing, Collins," he said with the most flint-like voice anyone had ever heard from the Master of Pemberley. "My aunt's wishes are vastly different from reality. I am not nor have I ever been engaged to my cousin - and if I hear you spreading that rumor, and attempting to compromise my integrity, I guarantee that the last sermon you preached in Kent would be the final one you ever do." He gave an icy smile as he slightly inclined his head. "I am sure we understand each other."

Finally breathing deeply to cleanse his anger, he smiled a trifle apologetically to the Bennets. Elizabeth's wide-eyed look at him, and the shadow beginnings of the smile that he had been looking for, gratified him more than he could ever explain, even to himself - as did the calm look of unchanged trust in Bennet's eyes. Feeling suddenly quite happy, he held out his arm and smiled at Miss Elizabeth, "Madam, I believe I promised you refreshments after this dance."

Elizabeth's gaze finally held the impish twinkle he so adored - _admired, _he corrected himself. "So you did, Mr. Darcy, so you did," said she. And with the usual banter between them, Darcy and Elizabeth proceeded toward the refreshments table, leaving Collins standing in quiet anger beside his cousin.

"Well!" Rupert Bennet cheerfully clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "That was quite a revelatory talk, was it not, cousin? I feel quite invigorated by it, as I am certain you do as well." He chuckled at the stoic glare of his companion. "No? Tsk-tsk. Well, into each life some rain must fall, and all that. Console Lady Catherine as well as you can, then, cousin ... but if I were you, I would stand by the nephew. He has more to give." And with a light jaunt as far as his legs would allow, Bennet moved on to socialize with his fellow revelers, leaving a seething William Collins by the side of the great room.

* * *

><p>In her happiness, Elizabeth felt emboldened to lightly squeeze Mr. Darcy's arm which he had offered to her. "You quite scared the poor fellow, sir," she teased. "Whatever is he to do now when he goes back to Kent and face the esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Mr. Darcy?"<p>

Darcy gave a wry smile. "I hardly care, Miss Elizabeth, as long as he does not involve my name in any of his or my aunt's conjectures. Lady Catherine has long held ideas of her own as regards my marital felicity - truthfully, _felicity_ has little to do with it, as she hopes only to unite the two estates."

"A business transaction?" asked Elizabeth with a tinge of uncertainty.

"It is what is quite commonly done among people of the Ton, Miss Elizabeth." Darcy spoke softly, not quite understanding - nor even acknowledging - the sadness that overcame him just then. As it happened before, Darcy automatically reached up his hand to cover that of Miss Elizabeth's in an unconscious gesture of comfort and accord.

"Will you be happy with that, Mr. Darcy?"

Her voice was quiet, brushed with ... something that Darcy could not quite place. It made him pause in his tracks, then with a slow deliberate movement, turned to face Rupert Bennet's daughter. His friend's daughter. His friend. Blue eyes locked with deep green ones.

"No, Miss Elizabeth," he whispered back. "I will not."

* * *

><p>On the other side of the room, Bingley had another cause to celebrate the evening. His friend and business partner, Henry van Wart, had finally arrived with his wife Sarah. Bingley had written to Henry last week, almost as soon as he had determined to hold a ball. "Dear Henry," he wrote, "you must come, for such is the improvement in Mr. Bennet's state that I know, given your concern for him when first we encountered him, you would be exceedingly pleased."<p>

And so it was that Henry van Wart came, albeit a little late in the ball's proceedings, and pressed upon Bingley at once to lead him him to Mr. Bennet. True enough, the meeting of the two acquaintances were as warm as that of any old friends could be, with van Wart highly enthusing the near-complete recovery of the older man.

"By Jove, Bennet, I would hardly have believed you to be the same injured man we found!" van Wart chuckled. "Here you are at a ball with the rowdy Bingley, no less!"

"Tis true," replied Bennet warmly, "though if he asked me to dance a jig, my daughter Elizabeth - you remember her - would most gleefully spear him with a thunderbolt, I believe." This brought general gaiety to the reunion, especially when a while later, Elizabeth herself joined them, happy to see again the kindly couple who took a most prodigious care of her father at the start of his injury. They had a slight acquaintance with Mr. Darcy, whom they met again tonight ... and soon, their little circle enjoyed conversation where wit flowed long and swift, covering even, as Elizabeth argued, "the efficacy of poetry in driving away love."

Darcy, now used to Miss Elizabeth professing opinions which were not in fact her own, raised his eyebrows at her and challenged, "I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love, Miss Elizabeth."

"Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may," came the quick retort, "Every thing nourishes what is already strong. But if it was only a vague sort of inclination, I am convinced: one poor sonnet will kill it stone dead." And this roused a full laughter from everyone.

Darcy himself could not keep the delight that entered his eyes, though he simply smiled and chuckled. The general pause that followed made Elizabeth tremble ... as within the blue depths of Mr. Darcy's eyes, she thought she saw a spark of a little something that she, Elizabeth Bennet, had only hoped for in the secret spaces of her heart.

* * *

><p>It could never be said that Sarah van Wart was a dense creature - for her innately quiet nature allowed her to observe others keenly and pin their thoughts or feelings most accurately oft times. Thus she saw in the tall gentleman from Derbyshire an awakening just recently hewn, but rapidly taking definite shape. <em>This<em> _is a gentleman,_ she mused_, most deliberate in all he does, most studied ... but in matters of the heart, I wager he is quite unschooled._ And of Elizabeth, whom she had liked from the start, Sarah observed, _And here is a young lady so fiery in thought and spirit, yet unaware of the power she holds ... for I wager too that Mr. Darcy is not the only one to take note of her incandescent charms ..._

There was in fact a reason why Sarah van Wart felt much the weight of that last statement. She had observed a man in cleric's clothing skulk about near them, his eyes fixated on Elizabeth. The man never once looked her way or Henry's ... if he had, he would have seen the glimmer of recognition in Mrs. van Wart's eyes.

"Henry," she said softly, gently tugging at her husband's sleeve, "is that not the son of my bonnet maker, Hannah Collins, from Birmingham? Her husband died not too long ago ... do you recall?"

Darcy had overheard the innocent query from Mrs. van Wart. _Birmingham!_ They had a location, and another source of information unconnected to Lady Catherine! Darcy was excited ... but before he could say anything to the van Warts, a commotion happened near him, right by Rupert Bennet's elbow. It was the younger Bennet girl - Catherine - red-faced, nervous ... and crying. Upon seeing her, Mr. Bennet in alarm took her swiftly by the elbow and removed her to a remote section of the room to attend her, quickly doubled by Elizabeth - and Darcy, compelled by a force he himself could not comprehend, followed them swiftly, not even deigning to hide his presence from them, but only wanting to help.

"Papa," Catherine whispered in a small voice. "Please, do not be angry with me for coming. I could not trust anyone else. Here ... a note, Papa. From Lyddie ... she is_ (sniff)_ ... she has eloped - thrown herself into the power of Mr. Wickham. Oh, Papa!"

Catherine broke down in tears amid the horrified gasp of Elizabeth and the strangled cry of her father as his trembling hands held the cursed note. Darcy himself felt his world crumble to dust ... then amazingly built back up by a fury stronger than he had ever felt before, as in Elizabeth's eyes he saw with dismay the light of her beautiful soul begin to flicker ... and die.

And it was this that Fitzwilliam Darcy could not, would not, accept.


	12. Plans A-Swinging

**Author's Note: Forgive me for being a day late. The weekend was gone before I knew it. :) Longest chapter so far, so I hope that makes it up some.**

**Chapter Twelve**

**"Plans A-Swinging"**

"Let me help."

_How easy it is,_ Elizabeth mused later as she stood by the window in Lydia's bedroom, _for one thus trained, to wrest back control when circumstances go awry – to act so masterfully within events so that chaos may at once be contained and further harm prevented._ Elizabeth thought this as she remembered how, in the emotional furor that immediately followed Miss Catherine's inadvertent disruption, Mr. Darcy uttered three little words that, though she did not recognize it immediately, brought a sense of purpose to the dismayed Bennets - the patriarch and two of the daughters - gathered together.

"Let me help."

Until now as she stood beside this window, Elizabeth had not had time to process everything that happened in Netherfield. She remembered being ushered immediately into an empty room where they would be assured of maximum privacy, and then, after a quiet plea to be allowed to assist, Mr. Darcy was making decisions for them, strategizing for them ... laying the ground work to protect the reputation of Longbourn and the Bennets. In the high emotions of the moment, he took charge of circumstances – not as an indictment against her father's ability (or inability, as it were) nor her own, but simply because he knew the situation best. Had he not gone through the same experience himself, and did he not know the perpetrator – the same cad! – better than anyone?

"Let me help," he had said.

And he did.

* * *

><p>The sun was already high in the sky when the ladies of Longbourn gathered in the breakfast parlor - some, like Jane and Mrs. Bennet, still a little drowsy after all of last night's excitement. Everyone attributed Elizabeth's extreme paleness to tiredness as well, as they remembered her having a very successful evening dancing - twice! - with Mr. Darcy. "And one of them a waltz, too!" Mrs. Bennet enthused, "which is just as well that I decided to have you stay with him, Lizzy, and not dear Mary, who is oh so shy sometimes." To this, Mary rolled her eyes and wondered at the extraordinarily subdued air of her second oldest sister.<p>

"Is Lydia feeling better this morning, Kitty?" Jane asked softly, turning to Kitty who for once let slide her family referring to her in her now-rejected childhood appellation. Kitty neglected to respond beyond a shake of her head, and Lizzy smoothly took over, albeit more quietly than her wont.

"I checked up on her early this morning, Jane, and she seemed exceedingly fatigued and headachy ... she truly would need for us to leave her alone for a few days until she is better." Pausing briefly for a sip of her coffee, she added, "She has asked for meal trays to be sent up, Mama ... I hope you do not mind me instructing Hill so? I know how you despise the sick room, so it is best that I ..."

Mrs. Bennet was already waving away Lizzy's explanation. "You are right, child, you are right. I am most likely to be sicker than poor Lydia if I stay in a sick room for any length of time. Why, my poor nerves cannot take it!" she exclaimed, then said a little uncertainly, "But you are certain Lydia is alright? That this is just a very bad case of cold so ill-timed with her ... ahh ... monthly courses?" She said the last word in a whisper, and Lizzy smiled her assurance. And with that, Mrs. Bennet seemed pacified.

_And there, Mr. Darcy, is the second stage of your plan to save the Bennet reputation,_ Elizabeth thought ruefully - _played to perfection lock, stock and barrel. Lydia we must discretely let known to all to be indisposed, to buy us at least a few days' time._

Never had Elizabeth prayed more fervently than now that Mr. Darcy's plans, outrageous as they were, would truly succeed ... the happiness of their family, in a way - the marriageability of the Bennet girls - depended on it. The possibility of bringing in the militia was discussed last night, but Rupert Bennet in the end concurred with Mr. Darcy that the militia stationed here were too close to the populace of Meryton that there was a considerable chance of Lydia's name being uncovered. Mr. Darcy instead opted to bring in his colonel-cousin in the regulars, Colonel Michael Fitzwilliam, who had just been wanting to get back at Wickham for what he tried to do to Darcy's sister Georgiana, of whom he was co-guardian with Darcy.

And from that her mind was brought back to last night, when Mr. Darcy, excusing himself for a brief moment from the room where the dismayed Bennets were assembled, came back and executed _Part One_ of his grand scheme: he asked Elizabeth for a dance. Elizabeth was mortified. "Mr. Darcy!" she cried. "You cannot expect me to think about dancing at this time!"

"Please, Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy cut in urgently, as the initial strain of the music - one he had requested - had already begun. "We need to give your neighbors something to distract them from Miss Lydia. A few individuals have seen Miss Catherine arrive in tears - we can explain that away by saying that Miss Catherine had come for your father because Miss Lydia had high fever. But along with that, it could only be a benefit to our plan to give Hertfordshire something a trifle more exciting to focus on - a dance, madam, with me." He held his palm out that Elizabeth, though hesitant to accept, realized was indeed done in good faith and cunning.

"There will be talk, Mr. Darcy ..." Elizabeth protested weakly as they walked to the dance hall.

"I am counting on it," the man whispered.

"Mr. Darcy, I am afraid for you. Rumors are no joking matter for a man your consequence," Elizabeth countered.

"Madam, they are no less detrimental for you and your sisters. Perhaps even more so. Please trust me on this. I have been dealing with rumors all my adult life ... I can handle one more. But you and your sisters, in the face of small talk versus big scandal ..." Darcy could not keep his sharp intake of breath.

Elizabeth suddenly felt tears burn both her eyes and heart. _He is a good, sweet man_, she thought ... and thus, there was nothing left to say but a whispered "Thank you." Mr. Darcy smiled, and soon they were in the hall. Uncannily, nobody else was on the floor dancing, and Elizabeth suddenly understood why.

"This dance ... is a waltz, Mr. Darcy!"

He responded with a hidden grin. "I think big."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "I do not know how ...!" She tried to plant her feet where she stood, but Darcy held on to her hand tighter, though he turned to look at her squarely in the eye.

"Trust me." Elizabeth could find no reply. Mr. Darcy's blue gaze bore into her soul. "Elizabeth," he whispered. "Please." And she nodded.

And thus, all alone they were on the dance floor, gliding and twirling and moving as one, absolutely flawless in every way. Their eyes locked on each other as though they were the only ones in the whole room ... and in a way, they were. The hall fell into a hush so deep that one could hear the flap of angel's wings as everyone was mesmerized by the couple on the floor. Mr. Darcy's plan worked to perfection.

And all throughout, Elizabeth could see nothing but Darcy's gentle smile.

Darcy, though the lady could not have known, could see nothing but Elizabeth's fine eyes.

_I love him_, Elizabeth's heart whispered.

_This is like a dream_, Darcy's heart breathed, and he knew he would never be the same again.

* * *

><p>"Elizabeth ... Elizabeth! Are you not paying attention to me?" Mrs. Bennet was screeching across the breakfast table. "Heavens, where were you, child?"<p>

"I am sorry, Mama ... my thoughts got carried away."

"Well, I am not surprised. You and Mr. Darcy did very well, very well indeed. You should have seen them, Mr. Bennet - it was certainly too bad that you had to be called away for Lydia, although I suppose it was just right that somebody be here for the poor girl. But oh! Mr. Darcy and our Lizzy ...! They looked so well together, as did Jane and Mr. Bingley! I wager everyone is talking about it, and I daresay, Mr. Bennet, you shall have two young gentlemen calling here very soon ... Yes, yes, very soon, indeed." And Mrs. Bennet paused just long enough to put a piece of toast in her mouth, chuckling all the while.

"Mr. Darcy left for London early this morning, Mama ..." Elizabeth said softly.

Silence hung over the breakfast room then. Then Mrs. Bennet gave a nervous laugh. "Did you say something, Lizzy? For a while I thought you said Mr. Darcy left for London ..."

Elizabeth took a deep breath. _On to Part Three of the plan: have a reason for Mr. Darcy to leave Hertfordshire so he could track Wickham._ "I did, Mama," she said. "After our dance, his valet approached him with some urgent business from town. A family matter, is all I know." The trustworthy Simms had actually been let in on the situation in general terms, and had indeed been requested by Darcy to approach him after the dance in full view of everyone.

Mr. Bennet spoke for the first time. "He told me the same thing, Lizzy." _All part of the plan ... and I fear for you, my sweet Elizabeth. Your heart has already been touched, I know it._

"When will he be back?" came the stringent cry of Mrs. Bennet.

"We are not sufficiently connected for him to tell me that, Mama," Elizabeth replied, with an effort to remain calm.

"But surely he must have said something ...! Mr. Bennet, what think you?"

"Madam," said Rupert Bennet tiredly, "Mr. Darcy is an extremely busy man, master of multiple estates ... I truly cannot presume anything of his schedule than what he has already unselfishly given."

"Lawd!" cried Mrs. Bennet with a clatter of her silverware. "What about Lizzy? It is almost as if she had been jilted! What is to happen?"

Elizabeth was aghast. "Mama!" _Good Lord, this is the one thing we had not foreseen!_ "Mr. Darcy is simply a friend, nothing more."

"But ..." the matriarch stammered.

Firmly, Mr. Bennet then interjected, casting a stern glance at his wife. "No, Mrs. Bennet, cease that. Do remember, Mr. Darcy is also an investor in some Longbourn undertakings - he is a business partner. We are bound to hear from him from time to time, and we would not want any false notion about his person to create in him a reluctance to keep on doing business with us. Do you understand this? I am very serious about this matter, madam, so take care that you heed me closely."

Mrs. Bennet swallowed, blinked twice at her husband, and nodded slowly. Elizabeth smiled a little in relief - her Papa would have at least that quarter under control, and so she decided to separate herself from any more talk that would force her to reveal any more than she already had. She turned to her father. "May I be excused, Papa? I would like to get some fresh air before I look in on Lydia. I promise I will not go far nor tarry," she quickly added upon seeing her father's brows knit in worry. Elizabeth had a fair guess that it had to do with his distrust of Mr. Collins.

After a pensive pause, however, he gave his permission. "But keep yourself in full view of the house, Elizabeth," he ordered, and Elizabeth acquiesced with a thankful smile. A few minutes later, she rounded the back of the house, in a bid to sit just a few minutes in the now faded Longbourn rose garden, the blooms now all gone and the leaves curled and fallen on the ground. It was still Elizabeth's favorite spot, despite the bleakness ... to the young lady's mind, the quiet and seclusion of the place as she closed her eyes to savor her surroundings lent much to soothe the vicissitude of her spirit, and for the moment, this became the most beautiful of places on earth.

At least until an unwelcome voice shattered the peace.

"Ah, Miss Elizabeth, it is good to see you here. I had hoped to speak with you privately, and it seems God has favored me this morning."

"Mr. Collins!" Elizabeth jumped up in an instant. "You startled me, sir." She forced herself to remain calm, as she said, "I fear I have been out longer than I intended. Would you walk with me back to the house?" Slowly, subtly, she started inching her way back to the house in the hopes of having the man follow her there ... or better yet, lose him altogether. But the large man blocked her path, and from his several inches' height advantage over Elizabeth, spoke to her low and, to Elizabeth's ears at least, menacing, as was the whole person of this man. Her heart thumped.

"My dear Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Collins began, "your modesty, far from doing you a disservice, adds to your other perfections. I assure you that I have your respected mother's permission for this address, and surely you cannot doubt my purpose; my attentions have been too marked to be mistaken. In truth, I singled you out as the companion of my future life." He stepped closer to Elizabeth who quickly sidestepped, and his leering smirk belied his next words as he attempted to reach for Elizabeth's cheek with a fleshy hand. "Forgive me, madam, I am run away with by my feelings ..."

Immediately Elizabeth batted away his hand before it even reached her skin and tried to push him out of her path, but as she did that, Collins grabbed that errant hand and twisted it painfully as he pulled Elizabeth to him. Lizzy gasped in pain, and tried to swing her other free hand in order to strike the man, but heavy-boned Collins already had her other arm pinned as well. Worse, before Elizabeth could cry out for help, the parson's hot mouth crashed on hers and she felt his slimy tongue invade hers, his breath offensive and his taste so disgusting to her that it made her want to vomit right there and then.

Quickly lifting his head up from hers, he sneered down at Elizabeth and, to her horror, ripped her light spencer open, and with it the bodice of her gown, exposing her stays which unfortunately had come skewed as to reveal one breast. More sneers came from Collins as he reached for Elizabeth's tempting flesh, and she furiously managed to fend him off while tearfully righting what clothing she could. The smirking parson leered, "Go, go and scream, young miss, and let everyone see you in the state you are in. If anything, such would only serve my ... ungh!"

* * *

><p>Everything that happened next was a blur to Elizabeth, but not to the woman who had taken a special interest in Elizabeth, and now was fortunate enough to come to her rescue. From behind the unsuspecting Mr. Collins, the lady in question swung a thick branch and hit Collins' shoulder forcefully. The man whirled around in anger ... it was the van Wart woman! She was still holding her weapon, considerable in her seemingly frail arms, but her eyes were blazing with the fury of the near-noonday sun. Collins bore on her with a vengeance. "You ... stupid ... tradesman's wife...!" he roared and stepped towards her.<p>

Sarah van Wart's eyes glinted dangerously. "I am no tradesman's wife," she hissed furiously, and deftly raised her arms with her makeshift club. "I ... am ... an ... American!" And with one strong swing, Mrs. van Wart hit the parson on the side of his head with a hard thunk ... and down, down, down went the fiend, cold and out.

Elizabeth's rescuer dropped her weapon and rushed at once to Elizabeth. "Miss Elizabeth!" she cried. "Come! We must get you inside. Wear my coat." She helped the trembling young woman don the outerwear and buttoned it up; Miss Elizabeth was shaking badly enough that her fingers were of little use. Collins was still slumped on the ground, and at Lizzy's questioning look, Sarah said contemptuously, "We will let Henry and Mr. Bennet deal with the garbage, Miss Elizabeth, and have a footman go to him before he wakes. We need to get you warm first ... nobody will know about this, as it would be his word against mine. But thank God I saw you round the corner! I would have come sooner had I known Mr. Collins had followed you ... I thought it polite to greet your family first."

"He said ... he said ... my Mama ..." Lizzy stammered a trifle confusedly.

Mrs. van Wart paused and opined quietly, surmising what the idiotic man wanted Elizabeth to believe, "That your mama wanted him to proposition you? I do not think so, Miss Elizabeth. She was too busy crowing just now about Mr. Darcy's attentions to you last night." She squeezed Elizabeth's arm which she still held for support, and softly said, "He was the one who sent us here, you know - Mr. Darcy, that is. He talked to us early this morning before he left, and asked us to protect you. Henry has information about your so-called heir - God willing, your family would be well-rid of him once and for all."

Elizabeth nodded. _Mr. Darcy again ..._

_This,_ she said to herself when finally she was able to breathe, _is why __I love him so. _And in her heart, she added a little whisper. _Come back to me._


	13. Understandings, For Good or Bad

**Chapter Thirteen**

**"Understandings, for Good or Bad"**

"Imbecilic bastard!"

Rupert Bennet flew out of his chair as soon as William Collins was brought in, unsteady but well-guarded by the hefty Longbourn footman Nate. Mrs. van Wart had earlier related to him only in the basest terms the perfidious act of the parson, and it took great effort for Henry van Wart to calm down the patriarch ... now, however, control be damned, Bennet grabbed Collins by the collar and threw him into an armchair so violently that the chair overturned, bringing down the man as well. In a flash, Bennet was upon him once more, only to be restrained by his friend.

But his wrath knew no bounds. He roared at the parson. "Blithering idiot! You expected me to offer one of my daughters as sacrificial lamb in order to secure Longbourn? Think again, you numbskull moron! If you as much as look at the feet of Elizabeth or any of my daughters ever again, I guarantee that you will think the moon not far enough for you to hide. Filthy swine! I should string you up my horse and drag you all the way back to Kent and tell your precious Lady de Bourgh that he has a lust-filled, unworthy man manning her pulpit!"

He was still hurling his invectives when the door was flung open. In came a very worried Lizzy, followed closely by Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. van Wart, all simultaneously calling, "Papa!" and "Oh, Mr. Bennet!" and "Henry?"

"We heard shouting, Mr. Bennet," said a breathless Mrs. Bennet. "Oh, my nerves … I had thought that something terrible had happened to you!" She let her flustered look pass from her husband to the ashen Mr. Collins, who was mopping his face with a handkerchief. "Mr. Collins! What is happening?"

"You tell me, madam," replied the now indignant cleric, who used the disruption to gain some control over himself and his situation. "That such a simple request would be met by such violence! Did I not let you know, madam, that I intended to speak to Miss Elizabeth today?"

"Y-yes," a confused mistress turned to everyone in the room, her brows knitted deeply. "And I did agree that you could speak to her tonight after supper, if she so desires, and with our whole family present at least in the same room. Why? Was that wrong, Mr. Bennet? I only wanted to give Lizzy a choice, as we do not know if Mr. D –"

"You did not tell him to go to Lizzy in the rose garden, Janine?" Rupert interrupted sharply.

Mrs. Bennet snorted lightly. "The rose garden? Why on earth would anyone want to be in that drab place at this time of year? There is no bloom, no color, no …" Suddenly, she stopped, and her eyes narrowed at Mr. Collins … for contrary to popular belief, Mrs. Janine Bennet was truly not that much of a silly woman especially when it came to protecting her own – and in this case, her family. She looked at Lizzy. _Her wrist is bandaged, and I believe she changed her gown … and she was wearing Mrs. van Wart's coat earlier …_

She gasped and angrily whirled back at the parson.

"You tried to compromise my daughter … and you lied to her about me, did you not? Did you not?" Mrs. Bennet fairly shouted her last words as she bore down on Mr. Collins who looked at her in shock. "You miserable, ungrateful, potato-smelling idiot of a man! You are a pastor, and yet you lie glibly and try to hurt innocent girls from the same home as that which welcomed you! You are a hypocritical bag of wind!" Fury lit her eyes. "Listen, you pebble-brain peacock: you will leave Longbourn. Today. And never darken our doors ever again!" She faced her husband. "I want him out of our home, Rupert. Within one hour. I will brook no argument …"

"Mrs. Bennet, you will get none." He smiled.

"Good." She turned to Elizabeth and gingerly lifted her hand. "The idiot hurt you, Lizzy. Did he … did he …touch …?" She sighed. "I will never want you hurt, child."

"No, Mama," Elizabeth softly replied, then smiled as she kissed her mother's cheek. "Thank you, Mama." And in mock whisper, she added mischievously, "Mrs. van Wart hit him very hard on the head."

"Good," the matriarch said again, then looked at the parson contemptuously. "She should have done it twice." Janine straightened up. "Now if you would excuse me, I have luncheon to see to … for only two guests." And with a smile at the van Warts but a disgusted snort at the now sullen Collins, she left.

Rupert laughed. "Well, well! If I did not see a flash of my young Janine back …!" He turned back to his adversary. "You heard the lady, Mr. Collins. Leave! And if I ever catch a whiff of you around here, then believe me ... I am not without connections to make your life a living hell."

The footman, Nate, who kept guard outside of the study, was summoned and immediately given orders to watch Collins like a hawk as he packed, and bring him as far as Meryton. Loyal most especially to Miss Elizabeth and knowing a little of what transpired, Nate smirked and said, "With pleasure, sir," and then mumbled, "Good riddance, too."

* * *

><p>Later, Rupert mulled over the events of the morning and allowed relief to wash over his spirit. William Collins had always exuded an air of avarice and malevolence that made Rupert often fear for his ladies' safety and his own – call it intuition, if you like, he said to himself. He abhorred letting the parson go without repercussion, but at the moment, his priority was to dig for information in Birmingham. <em>Let the moron be occupied with his patroness back in Kent - he would not be underfoot then.<em>

The news that Henry van Wart shared was very promising. Darcy had told the van Warts an overview of the situation early that morning and had asked them to share what they know, and thus Henry related, "Collins' mother's name is Hannah, Sarah's bonnet-maker. Sarah gave Hannah a goodwill basket upon the death of Willie Collins, her husband, and Hannah, extremely grateful for the kindness and wanting to share her grief, let drop this little nugget: your William Collins is not her son – and neither is he her husband's."

Oh, what a confabulation of emotions flooded Bennet's spirit! He downed a full glass of brandy to calm his nerves, and chuckled to himself how like his wife he sounded. But however great a thrill he felt in his soul, logic won out: All claims must be documented and proven ... and as of then, he had nothing but hearsay.

He was afraid that Collins would recognize the van Warts from Birmingham and from there glean his plan - but it appeared he did not. The van Warts, coming from America, had lived in Birmingham only for the last three years. In that time, as they understood it, William Collins the younger had been in university, supported partly by Hannah Collins, partly by a Birmingham parish rector who found compassion for the young boy abused by an older man he called father, and partly by a small inheritance from "a grandmother, I believe," said Henry. This, Rupert took to mean as Sallie Hanson, and made a mental note to look into public records of wills, births and deaths, and talk to the old Birmingham pastor who sponsored Collins.

"Mr. Bennet ...?"

The tentative tone of his wife broke through Rupert's reverie, upon which he, tinged with a bit of surprise, invited her to come in. Janine sat on the sofa - bemusedly, Rupert thought she looked very prim right there, hands folded on her lap, even slightly fiddling with the fabric of her skirt or her handkerchief, and refusing to look at her husband, although there evidently was something on her mind. He stared at her a few more seconds, and unaccountably felt somewhat shy himself. Finally, he cleared his throat.

"Janine?" he called softly. "Is there something ..."

Suddenly, the lady's eyes flashed at him, and she snapped, "I could not have done that deed, and you know it! And yet ... and yet ... you suspected me, and you allowed yourself to believe that I could ..." here, Janine sniffed, "that I could sell our child just like that! How could you, Rupert? How could you?"

"Janine ..."

"I dream of your daughters making excellent matches, yes ... but Rupert, can you really believe that I would not think of their happiness also? I am their mother! Do you think I could truly be happy if I know that they are miserable?" She sniffed again.

"Janine ..."

"I love them all, Rupert, and I would never willingly allow any of them to be hurt!" Rupert had already stood up at Janine's second outburst, and thus was right beside Janine when now she burst into frustrated tears. At once, Rupert sat on the sofa with her and tried to take her hand, but the lady was having none of it and yanked her hand away resentfully. Rupert sighed.

"Forgive me, Janine," he said. "I was ... I was confused." His wife gave a snort within a sniff, and continued her quiet sobbing.

Long minutes stretched. Finally, Rupert spoke, his voice low and quiet. "When I lost my memories of the last twenty years, Janine, I felt so lost. Everything I thought I knew was gone, or was different. Well, it truly was more like I was gone, and you were different. I could not reconcile it. Do you remember when we married? You were all of twenty then, so beautiful, so carefree … and I three years older. I had dreams then – do you remember? Dreams for Longbourn – though Papa Amos was still master then – and dreams for you. I wanted so badly to do well."

Rupert sighed. "To wake up one day to find that I did _not_ do well by you and our daughters, my dear, was devastating. To find that I did not do well by _my_ own dreams was humiliating. And to find that I had failed the estate, which was my heritage, was disgusting. I kept on wondering what had happened to all that I thought defined what I was. These last few months, Janine, such was my question to myself: what happened?"

Rupert let a few seconds pass before continuing, as he was actually afraid of the next words he was going to say, but knew they needed to be said. "I blamed you, Janine."

The mistress of Longbourn bolted out of the sofa with a cry and made to rush to the door. But Rupert anticipated her and before she even reached the doorway, he had her locked in his arms as she struggled to get away, all the while pleading for her to listen. "Shh … shh … Janine, please … please, listen to me. I am done blaming you. Truly, I am."

Janine's breath was heaving, her misery cascading over her heart in powerful waves. She continued to struggle against Rupert's strong arms, although with much less force now. Rupert tightened his hold on her some more, and continued. "As I began to remember, little by little, I began to see that the burden of blame falls entirely on me. Dear, sweet Janine. I am the one who brought us where we are now, with all this uncertainty that surrounds us. I was the one who was the absent master … the absent father and an even more absent husband."

He then lifted his head to look into his wife's face. It was red and swollen, and her hair was all in disarray, but Rupert only saw his bride of long ago. Brushing the hair out of her face, he smiled. "I do not remember everything yet, my dear … and that was why I have not said anything, for to be honest, there is not much in my retrieved memories that can be construed as a credit to me. But I recall more and more, and I can see things much clearer. I remember how I ignored you, time and time again. Towards the end, when my Mama died – the last person in our household to treat you with respect – you just broke down. Oh, Janine, you were so sick, so depressed … and you slid into this nervous persona that I realize now came out of fear of the future! And what did I do? I ignored you. Again."

He kissed her temple. "Mrs. Bennet, I do not know how you can forgive me, but if you do, I promise you: the Rupert Bennet that you were saddled with these last twenty years will disappear forever … and the Rupert Bennet of your youth, the one who gave an oath to hold and honor you, until death us do part – he will love you and cherish you, forsaking all others, from this day forward ... "and he finished with a whisper, "so help me, God."

He tightened his arms around Janine again, laying his cheek upon her head … and he felt her trembling violently. She had ceased struggling, but Rupert could feel her forcing deep calming breaths and his shirt getting wet with her tears which she tried vigorously to wipe with her sodden handkerchief. But he did not let go. _I promised I would not._

Minutes passed ... perhaps half an hour, an hour. At last, a pair of arms went around Rupert's waist to hold him close as well. And then came a whispered pledge. "I too will change, Rupert … for I do love you."

* * *

><p>Darcy sat impatiently inside his unmarked stationary carriage. He had been waiting for about half an hour now, parked some distance away from an ill-kept building - a cheap inn pointed out to them, upon threat of torture and charges of treason for aiding a deserter, by one called Emily Younge. Darcy's blood boiled. He never believed that Wickham would be on his way to Gretna Green, as Miss Lydia's note to her family suggested. More likely, he would be hiding among all other the sleazy personas of London ... and Emily Younge, who was his accomplice in Ramsgate last summer, would be a primary source of refuge. <em>They are both without souls, <em>Darcy spat. His body felt like coiled wire, ready to spring into action - this despite the peripheral tiredness he was trying to keep at bay after the rigorous ride from Hertfordshire all the way to London early this morning.

For the life of him, Darcy could not figure out what made George Wickham target Lydia Bennet when, from all accounts, it was Elizabeth Bennet who had from the first attracted him. Darcy was sure that Wickham would by now know that the Bennets had little by way of money - though certainly, that particular lack would have no effect at all on Wickham enjoying the pleasures of the flesh. Would that be enough, though, for him to chance the displeasure of his militia unit, and thereby open himself up to disciplinary measures? What could be his motivation?

It could be to get back at Bennet, who warned the Meryton merchants about the untrustworthiness of the lieutenant. Again, however, it seemed rather shortsighted of Wickham. The man that Darcy knew was far from being stupid ... rather, George Wickham was a cold, deliberate man who knew exactly to count the cost of each misdeed he had ever committed. Mostly misdeeds that would affect his lifelong nemesis, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.

Was he, Darcy, somehow inadvertently involved in goading Wickham to this seemingly spurious move? Darcy was unsure. He was good friends with Rupert Bennet, yes ... but that could hardly be sufficient inducement, not like if Darcy were a man in love with ... Darcy's eyes widened. _Elizabeth_?

_Blasted carbuncle!_ Darcy vehemently cried in his mind. _Surely I am not in love, and surely Wickham would have no notion ... I mean, it was only last night that I admitted ... well, truly, I am not even certain ... aargh!_

Darcy squirmed in his seat, his mind now all a-jumble. _Could it be ...? The cad always seemed to have a sixth sense about me. Damnation! No, I will not let him have the advantage!_

With that Darcy forced himself to focus. As a matter of strategy, he and his cousin Michael, a colonel in the King's army, decided to approach the search for Wickham first as a military issue (Wickham as a deserter was a grievous offense). This would help keep Miss Lydia's name out of the picture, at the same time hide Darcy's involvement from Wickham, lest the latter revert to the acrimonious bribing that was always his way with Darcy for as long as they could remember.

"Besides, Darcy," said Michael seriously, every bit the military man that he was, "You had your time in Ramsgate. I would like my own with just Wickham, face to face. I will not be gentle, cousin ... but I promise, barring extreme provocation, I will let him live." Darcy nodded in response.

And so here he was now, waiting for events to unfold. An earlier scout brought news that indeed, Wickham was within - with a young woman. No name of the woman was mentioned, and Darcy felt even more hopeful. Michael had gone in with a coterie of three burly, battle-hardened soldiers, the sight of which would be enough to inspire terror.

_Come now, Michael, where are you?_ thought Darcy impatiently, and as if on cue, a wild shout was heard, and from round the bend of the nasty-looking building, a tall figure came hurling through the bushes, clothes askance and disheveled, a crazed look about his eyes. _Wickham_! Giving chase were two of Michael's soldiers. Darcy could not see Michael from where he sat in the carriage, and suddenly fearful for his cousin, he frantically moved to the door to engage Wickham himself when, high and booming and completely in command, a voice rang out, "Wickham!"

Darcy tried to crane his neck to see what was happening, but a scuffle brought the soldiers beyond his line of vision. Stepping out of his carriage, he carefully inched his way toward the commotion ... and then, he saw Michael straighten up, and with steel in his eyes, said flatly, "To hell you go, Wickham. Goodbye."

An answering growl, a shot, and then Wickham was no more. Just a body with a hole in its chest, framed by scarlet stains everywhere. Colonel Michael Fitzwilliam's bullet went unerringly through the heart.

"What have you done?" came Darcy's aghast voice.

Before his cousin could reply, Darcy heard movement behind him, and turned to find a wrapped bundle in one of the soldier's arms. It was Lydia Bennet. There was not an inch on her face that was not swollen or bruised, battered or bloodied.

And suddenly, Darcy understood. Wickham needed to go ... to hell, as the colonel said.


	14. Dark World

**Author's Note: To me, the title of the chapter is apropos. A little warning, if you will.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fourteen<strong>

**"Dark World"**

The Darcy residence in London – named the Manor Sofia (meaning Wisdom) for the value the forebears always held dear – had been shaken out of its quiet. Through a back entrance of the house, the master burst in with his cousin, the latter carrying in his arms a limp, swathed figure that revealed just enough for the startled housekeeper Mrs. Fields – fortunately alone in the back room at that time - to see the badly battered face of a young girl. Mrs. Fields was too well-trained to react with vigor; nonetheless, the trusted servant immediately assessed the situation, and at once led the pair into one of the bedchambers upstairs, instructing along the way two maids to bring up basins of warm water and washcloths.

Little words were exchanged, as they were for the most part unnecessary - Mrs. Fields knew every nuance of her employer's manners. The physician was called for; bandages prepared; and from somewhere, a change of clothing for the young lady was also produced. The housekeeper gently ushered the men out. "Leave the care of our guest to me for now," she said, "I promise to send word as soon as I can."

Darcy nodded. "Direct the doctor to me first, if you please, before he sees her," he ordered. "I need to acquaint him with a few things." This the housekeeper acknowledged. As Darcy turned away, the woman held out a motherly hand.

"Master William," she said, reverting to the title Darcy had as a youth under her care, "everything will be alright." The master only gave a wan smile, and to bolster the spirits of the gentlemen she had known since since they were mischievous boys, she added, "Now you boys go and refresh yourselves. You have had a trying day. I will send tea and biscuits for you in the Master's study in a while."

Michael smiled – the first pure one of the day. "You are an angel, Mrs. Fields. I would have married you long ago had Mr. Fields not threatened to swat my bottom when I was twelve."

"That was right after you put mud inside his boots, Master Michael," quipped the lady. "I had to talk him out of swatting more than your bottom."

That brought at least a sliver of levity to the trio, and a shade of tension eased from their souls. When Darcy craned back to look inside the room again, Mrs. Fields deterred him. "Mr. Darcy, I believe we have a lady in there, and as such, this is no place for you at the moment. Please wait for my word." After a pause, she added, "This girl … is important to you, sir?"

Darcy hesitated. Then finally came his low reply, "She is important … to someone else quite important to me, Mrs. Fields." Michael threw him a curious look, and Mrs. Fields let it go at that.

* * *

><p>Two hours later, the cousins sat in the study as Michael relayed his full account to Darcy. With his Captain Drummond, Colonel Fitzwilliam had gone up to question Wickham for reported desertion, but even before they reached the room, they heard loud noises within, amid raucous laughter and faint moans. Looking at each other disgustedly, the soldiers kicked open the door and entered the room on the ready … only to stop dead at the scene. A young woman sat on the floor, arms over her head in a futile attempt to protect herself, clothes in disarray and ripped in places. She was bleeding from the mouth, the nose – there was a gash on the head as well. Her bruised eyes were barely able to open, and her arms had angry welts whilst her back had boot prints all over. George Wickham stood over her with a sneer, one hand holding a medium-sized blade, and the other his belt, arm ready to swing down again …<p>

Captain Drummond reacted first. "Nooo!" he roared as he rushed toward Wickham. Unfortunately, Wickham turned to him at the opportune time, and thrust his blade toward the advancing officer. Drummond parried the blow but took a hit on the arm. The adrenaline of the moment imbued Wickham with increased strength, for as quickly as Drummond descended on him, the fiend was able to lift the sizable captain off the ground and hurl him onto Fitzwilliam, taking both officers off balance – and Wickham fled as he picked up a gun that had fallen on the floor.

"Go, Colonel, go …!" cried Drummond, already grabbing a blanket and putting it over the young lady whose name he would later find out as Lydia. "Let me take care of her. You must not let that monster get away!" Nodding, Fitzwilliam gave chase … and thus came the tragic end of George Wickham of Derbyshire.

Bow Street Runners were called to the scene, but before they arrived, Lydia was discreetly spirited away into Darcy's unmarked carriage to hide her presence. How fortunate that the name of Colonel Michael Fitzwilliam of the Fighting Fifth Brigade (fondly called because Wellington himself described the unit as "The ever fighting, often tried, but never failing fifth"), decorated war hero on many fronts, was very much a well-respected name in law enforcement circles! For when the investigators came, nary a word of his statement was questioned. He readily identified the dead man as "George Wickham, militia lieutenant reportedly having abandoned his regiment."

With authority he added, "I had contacts from his unit, and being familiar with the habits of this particular gentleman, I volunteered to search for him. He turned quite violent, as you see from the stab wound on my captain's arm, and he was brandishing a gun. I shot him as he attacked me. I have these officers as witnesses. Now if you please, I need to tend to Captain Drummond. Direct all inquiries at the Manor Sofia on Grosvenor Square, please – that shall be my residence for a while. I shall make myself available to you." And with a bow, he left.

From the confines of his carriage, Darcy breathed a mixed sigh of relief and worry. _But cut and cut clean,_ he thought, as he realized that, though sordid and ungainly, there was astounding success in one major objective of Fitzwilliam Darcy: keep the name of Lydia Bennet away from scandal.

And one other thing, though it may seem callous to state it outright: George Wickham was dead, and would never bother the Darcys again. _Never ever again._

* * *

><p>Darcy stood now broodingly by the window of his study while his cousin sat near, absently watching the candlelight glint off his glass of brandy. The high energy of the previous hours was starting to creep on them, and as such, a tired and somber silence stretched long and wide between them. Then Michael pierced the quiet. "Darcy," he began, and noticed his cousin's back stiffen in anticipation of an unwished-for, but inevitable, conversation. "This young lady – Lydia Bennet? – who is she?"<p>

"Her father is my friend."

Michael raised his eyebrows at that. _That response, cousin, was far too practiced._ He had half a mind to tease his rather rigid friend, but was too exhausted to do it justice – thus he settled for a sigh. "Darcy," he said. "I will not pressure you into confiding in me, but allow me to tell you just the same what _I perceive_ is happening here. I am not an idiot, you know."

Leaning forward in his chair, he pinned Darcy with an earnest glance. "Lydia Bennet is closely connected to someone – not her father – you hold affection for. Her sister, perhaps?"

No answer. Michael smiled ruefully. "I think I am correct. I have not seen this steely determination since – I have to say it, Darcy! – Ramsgate. Now you have done everything to keep this young lady's reputation, and thereby that of her whole family's, unsullied. You have been extremely protective – now I learn, it is because of her relative. And I ask myself why – for I know you would not have been so if your feelings were not invested." He peered closely at his companion. "You are in love with her."

Silence settled like a thick suffocating blanket in the room. Michael watched his cousin – more like his closest friend – twist his signet ring while standing perfectly still. He had seen that stance many times, when the formidable young master was battling something within himself. And yet there was something different about this instance. _It is the uncertainty within himself,_ Michael thought. _Darcy is normally so resolute._ Michael decided to wait out the silence. His cousin continued to stand there, unmoving, seemingly not even breathing - his eyes on the dwindling bustle below but seeing none of it.

Then finally a whisper. "Am I? I hardly know, Michael." He spoke so low that Michael had to strain to hear. "The thought of her feeling sad, or forlorn – it devours my soul. And yet the vision of her smile – all throughout today, Michael … I lived for naught but that."

_Extraordinary._ Years later, Michael would remember this moment, when for the first time, he knew that his stoic, fastidious cousin, the reclusive yet much sought-after master of Pemberley, saw a glimpse into the world of the heart. And suddenly Michael realized something. It was not irresoluteness that was marking his cousin. It was in fact an even greater deliberateness than ever before, a refusal to rush headlong onto a tide of feelings. Darcy wanted all of himself in the process - his heart in tangent with his reason, his emotions meshing with his logic as best as could be. _You, my friend, are the bravest of men to attempt so_, Michael smiled, _and I love you for it.  
><em>  
>Still, though assured that his cousin was not being reckless, Michael felt compelled to sound off a cruel notion, "I mean no disparagement, Darcy, but ... with what happened with Lydia Bennet and Wickham," he fairly spat out the name, "are you certain of your lady's honor as well? Apples in the same barrel ..."<p>

"Watch your tongue, Fitzwilliam!" whirled Darcy in a flash, eyes glinting savagely in the dim light. But his cousin was nonplussed.

"I have Georgiana to think about, cousin," he said evenly.

"No more than I!" hissed Darcy. "Why do you think this is even more important to me? I know what happened to Georgiana. I know her loss! She is that apple you speak of, Michael ... and so are we." He allowed his voice to taper off to a whisper as he looked away. "So are we."

"Georgiana was not ruined by Wickham," Michael countered quietly. "Neither are we."

"Are we not?" Darcy replied, his voice level now but tinged with sadness. "Georgiana ... she has lost her spirit, cousin. Her body remains intact, but her soul is shattered. Her trust is lost, even in me. How can you say we have not been ruined? By Wickham, of all people?" Darcy turned away again. "Wickham had spent years ruining the Darcy name, especially that of mine. The Bennets, he did it in less than a day. I know Georgiana will heal; I know I will keep on. I am not sure about the Bennets, about Elizabeth, had I not done what I did. Lydia Bennet could easily have been our Georgiana."

_Elizabeth_. Michael caught the name easily, though he doubted Darcy even knew he spoke it aloud. He shuddered. Darcy was not to know that, indeed, what fueled Michael's rage when he faced off with Wickham was that the posture of the young lady they found morphed in his mind to be Georgiana, and he could barely stand his fury. No doubt Wickham would not have laid a violent hand on Georgiana while they were not married, but once they were – _had they were_ – and Georgiana's considerable dowry was under the control of Wickham … things would not have been pretty.

He sighed. "Only tell me something, cousin. This Elizabeth," he laughed when he saw Darcy gave a start, "yes, you spoke her name out loud just now, Darcy – she is honorable, reputable? I will not bring it up again."

"Among the most honorable ladies of my acquaintance, Michael." This time, Darcy's tone took on an almost pleading note as he looked at him. Michael realized how much, indeed, his opinion meant to his cousin, and felt immensely warmed by it.

_Elizabeth. Elizabeth Darcy. It does have a nice ring to it. _Tilting his head sideways, Michael grinned, feeling suddenly light. His quick change of countenance brought on a countering suspicious look from Darcy, causing Michael to chuckle. "And so I am to wish you joy?" he asked mischievously.

Darcy rolled his eyes. "That is exactly the question I expected you to ask. Your imagination is very rapid - from admiration to love to matrimony, indeed! I knew you would be wishing me joy." He smirked, and added, "Nuthead."

Michael laughed, and palpably, tension lifted. They were going to be alright, as Mrs. Fields said.

On Darcy's part, his mind was on the express he needed to send tomorrow. He dreaded it at the same time he grew excited by it. '_She has been found' _was all he was determined to write. Details could be filled in later when they come. A small smile played around Fitzwilliam Darcy's lips. _When Elizabeth comes … all will be right with the world._

* * *

><p>In the bedchamber upstairs, the badly hurt girl lay restless, thrashing about in bed though she was asleep. In her mind, she was back at the ball – no, no, that was not right … she was not allowed to go to the ball. So she stood hidden in the shadows, among the shrubs and trees, angrily watching all the gaily draped carriages pull up. Netherfield was alit with a million candles, and from within she could hear the orchestra tuning their instruments. It was a wild cacophony as yet, but that, to her, added to the festive air of the evening – a sense of anticipation that she, Lydia Bennet, should be enjoying to the fullest! Instead here she was, cast in the dark, acting as an interloper and a peeping tom! She huffed in frustration.<p>

But she found a friend lurking in the shadows with her, also watching. Lydia heard him exclaim a little when he saw Lizzy wave at someone. Mr. Wickham was sorry to miss the ball too, but he had official business in London.

The scene changed. Lydia moaned in her sleep, as she saw herself back in Longbourn. She was giddy with excitement as she wrote a note. She had a ride to town! _London!_ She was sure her aunt and uncle would be happy to see her – after all, they were always happy to have Jane and Lizzy with them. She remembered to take her money, as advised by Mr. Wickham, and got extra from where she knew Kitty kept hers.

_The note – what did I write? _Oh. What a lark! She was not really going to Gretna Green. She was going to London. It was all a joke for Kitty. But she almost paid for it with her life. _Perhaps she did._

Lydia in her sleep cried and thrashed wildly, and when sunshine bathed the city of her dreams, she found that her life had no such brightness. She found three words to describe her world.

Foolish. Stupid.

Damaged.


	15. Awakenings

**Chapter Fifteen**

**"Awakenings"**

It was two days later, well towards evening, when a simple carriage pulled up the driveway of Fitzwilliam Darcy's illustrious home, and even before the footman could open the carriage door for the passengers, the door swung open and a middle-aged man alighted, quickly followed by another gentleman slightly younger. The gentlemen looked nervous and eager at the same time as they turned to the servant, and the first man said, "I am Rupert Bennet, and this, my brother Edward Gardiner. Mr. Darcy had sent us an express to meet him here."

The servant's face lit up as he replied. "Oh, yessir, the Master did tell us to expect ye – lemme lead you inside, Mr. Bennet, and Bridges our butler will set you right up, sir." And with that, he ushered the gentlemen inside.

From a window upstairs, the houseguest - the actual object of the gentlemen - had seen the carriage arrive. Lydia had asked to sit by the window to watch the last of the daylight fade away, and she felt all the melancholia of the darkening world. Momentarily nudged out of her despairing thoughts when she heard the crunch of gravel, she somberly and disinterestedly watched the carriage draw to a halt ... and then she saw who the passengers were. Suddenly, Lydia clutched the windowsill, overwhelmed with relief, joy ... and yet a great deal of trepidation also. He had come ... he had not abandoned her. "Papa," she whispered with tears, pressing her fingers against her bruised mouth. "Oh, Papa …"

Before she knew it, she had rushed out of the room - hobbling, yes, but thankfully, having suffered no broken bones with her attack, she could freely ignore muscle soreness to rush to her one place of safety at the moment: her father. Out Lydia ran into the hallways, dimly lit by evenly spaced sconces, all the while sobbing out for her Papa. "I'm so sorry, so sorry, Papa ... forgive me, forgive me," she wept as she went, not knowing where. The house was a huge one, and to a young frightened girl, it could seem like a maze - and as the unfamiliarity of the place settled into her frenetic mind, so did doubts begin their pernicious whispering.

_How do you know?_

_Perhaps he did not come for you._

_He must be so ashamed of you, Lydia._

_You are dead to him._

"No ... no ... Papa, please do not leave me. Papa ..." sobbed Lydia pitifully, running to and fro in fear and confusion, and looking for a way out. "I am very sorry ... please, where are you?"

Lydia whirled around to go back down the corridor where she had just come from, and in her frenzy bumped into a solid chest. Shocked, she looked up.

It was a man in a red coat. A soldier ... looking down at her with eyes like daggers.

Lydia screamed.

* * *

><p>Downstairs, Darcy - quickly hiding his disappointment that Miss Elizabeth had not come - welcomed his guests into his study, happy to see his friend despite the grave circumstances, and pleased to make the amiable acquaintance of Edward Gardiner. The physician Dr. Allen was also present, and it was an encouraging circumstance that Dr. Allen and Edward Gardiner were already close acquaintances, as Dr. Allen had long been the family physician of the Gardiners as well. This added a new level of trust among all gentlemen as far as their topic was concerned. Darcy had volunteered to give his guests privacy with Dr. Allen, but Bennet had asked him to stay, as though needing to draw strength from him.<p>

"She has no broken bones, Mr. Bennet, though it appears she had been beaten and kicked repeatedly," reported the doctor compassionately. "The bruises, sadly, are plenty and well-spread, although I am certain they would fade in time, as would the cuts and contusions she suffered. Sir," Dr. Allen leaned towards the horrified father, "your daughter is fortunate to be alive, given the abuse she had gone through ... Colonel Fitzwilliam reached her just in time before the worst ..."

"Just in time ...! How can you say that, sir?" hurled Mr. Bennet though his outburst was met calmly and understandingly by everyone. "My daughter ... she was ... she was ..." and he found himself unable to continue as his chest heaved with sobs he did his best to contain.

"Violated," supplied the doctor quietly, his hand reaching out to gently clasp the distraught man's shoulder. "I know, sir ... but she is alive. And you have the chance to show her you love her, Mr. Bennet. To be strong for her. And," Dr. Allen expelled a breath, "to explore all options to help her when all consequences come to light. I will not lie. She has a long road ahead."

Everyone knew exactly what the physician was alluding to, and a heavy silence fell on the room. Finally, swallowing his tears, Bennet asked, "Has she spoken to anyone at all?"

"No, sir," replied Darcy quietly. "We thought it best to have no male presence around her for a while, much less those who are virtual strangers to her ... but I assure you my housekeeper has assigned only the most caring and discreet of my female staff to her." Bennet nodded gratefully. Darcy, actually, had approved wholeheartedly Mrs. Fields' plan to have Mrs. Carey, Georgiana's widowed old nanny, now Mrs. Fields' understudy, assigned exclusively to Lydia Bennet. Mrs. Carey was a quietly cheerful woman with no more family, who stayed with the Darcys because Georgiana could not bear to part with her. _She would be perfect,_ Darcy thought, _especially for a scared young girl as Miss Lydia._

Suddenly a scream pierced the air, and Darcy immediately leaped to his feet and sprinted out the room, up the wide stairs, down the hall, up another flight .. with the three other gentlemen hot on his heels. They all skidded to a stop near the end of a darkened hallway ... and there was Lydia Bennet at the corner, cowering, arms over head defensively while whimpering, "No, please, go away, it hurts, it hurts..." An older woman - easily assumed to be Mrs. Carey - crouched beside her to offer comfort, repeatedly spurned though it was.

Colonel Michael Fitzwilliam stood nearby, eyes watchful and fingers clenching to ease his tension. Darcy looked bewilderedly at his cousin.

"Michael!" he cried. "What in heaven's name happened?"

The soldier sighed and rubbed a tired hand on his face. "She was running in the corridor and bumped into me, and when I tried to steady her, she screamed her head off." He agitatedly ruffled his hair. "She was terrified, and called me 'Wickham'."

"Extreme trauma," said Dr. Allen as he approached his patient, careful not to touch the young lady in her agitated state. Softly he spoke to both her and Mrs. Carey, whispering assurances of being safe and encouraging Mrs. Carey to lead her back to her room so he could give her something to calm her down.

"Lydia." It was Mr. Bennet who slowly walked to his daughter's frightened form and knelt, despite the pain in his legs, beside her. Lydia scrunched herself further into a ball and whimpered all the more. "Oh, my darling girl," Bennet whispered, "my darling, darling baby girl." And unable to speak anymore, he simply gathered the trembling girl in his arms and held her gently, despite the latter's weak struggle ... and then he wept.

* * *

><p>Rupert Bennet accepted Darcy's invitation to stay at the Manor Sofia that night, but declined a separate room from Lydia's. Gardiner himself turned down the recommendation that he too spend the night, "for surely my wife and children would be wanting me home, and my niece Elizabeth would be worried sick as well if I do not return with some news, at least."<p>

Darcy's heart jumped in his chest. "Ahh ... Miss Elizabeth travelled to London with Mr. Bennet?"

"Indeed," Gardiner replied, "and brings with her a cover story to add on to the groundwork that has already been done, Mr. Darcy, thanks to your thorough thinking. If anyone in Meryton should ask about Lydia, he would be told that my niece had to be taken to London to avail of medical care. This morning, they bundled up a young servant to pass off as our Lydia ... she and Elizabeth are now at my home in Gracechurch Street, Mr. Darcy. Near Cheapside," he seemed to add as an afterthought as he peered closely at the young man's face. He found nothing but a respectful look._ My brother Rupert is right,_ Gardiner thought, _there is nothing in this young man that is proud and dismissive of those beneath him. And ... he does seem to be very interested in knowing about Lizzy._

For his part, Darcy was thinking that this was the relation that Elizabeth had spoken about most highly and affectionately ... Mrs. Bennet's brother! _Well, wonders never cease!_

Edward Gardiner laughed, and Darcy realized to his embarrassment that he had spoken aloud. He hastened to apologize but the older man waved him off. "Mr. Darcy, I know my sister very well. Truthfully, I comprehend your sentiments exactly. But allow her to surprise you, sir. She loves her family very much and would protect them fiercely. That cover story ... and the ruse to use the young Longbourn maid as Lydia? All Janine's idea. There was nothing to be done that she would not do herself, short of coming to London with us. As it was, she felt she would be of more use in Hertfordshire where she could counter any whispers about the Bennets - not that we expect there to be any, seeing as you all have done exceedingly well to cover our tracks."

Gardiner was suddenly very serious. "Mr. Darcy, on behalf of my sister's family, I thank you for all you have done. Without you, I hardly know ..."

This time it was Darcy who waved off the other man's declaration. "Mr. Gardiner, please. I have ..." he paused briefly and sighed. "I have known a younger sister's pain, and would do all I can to protect her as well."

A grateful look, a handshake, and Gardiner left ... but not before letting Darcy know that he would bring Elizabeth by the next day, "most probably in the afternoon, sir, as I have business to attend to in the morning, and I know our Lizzy would not be able to rest until she has seen her sister."

Darcy saw an opportunity and grabbed it. "In which case, Mr. Gardiner, would it be too forward of me to offer my carriage to fetch Miss Elizabeth in the morning at ten? Accompanied by your wife or your maid, of course. I am sure it would ease Miss Elizabeth's mind to be with her sister earlier - and equally sure that Miss Lydia would benefit from seeing her sister as well."

With a smile, Gardiner acquiesced, and accepted the gentleman's invitation for him and his wife to dine there the following day. "It will just be my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and myself, sir," Darcy stated, "so I can guarantee only a simple supper, as I have no one to act as hostess." _Unless Elizabeth would take on that role tomorrow,_ he thought to himself smugly - and this time was careful not to voice his thought aloud. Still, Mr. Gardiner had a knowing look about him as he smiled and shook Darcy's hand.

* * *

><p>Lydia had finally fallen asleep, though restively, after Dr. Allen had given her a bit of laudanum, and even in slumber, she refused to relinquish her hold on her father's hand ... but neither was the father about to let go, anyway. He sat on a chair beside Lydia's bed, staring at his youngest daughter's face, pale underneath the bruises. <em>This is my fault<em>, he recriminated himself._ If only I had been vigilant ..._

He put his head down on the bed, forehead touching the two clasped hands of father and daughter ... and again he wept. Wept for all those lost years when he could have been building up this precious girl. Wept for all those times when he could have told her that she was more important to him than his peace in the bookroom. Wept for his fatherly love, shown too little, too late ... wept, wept, wept.

"Papa."

Rupert's head sprung up suddenly, his face still a tearful mess as he smiled at his little girl. "Sweet Lydia," he said as he caressed her hand.

Lydia's lips trembled as she lightly shook her head. "Not sweet, Papa - not anymore, perhaps never was. I have been truly foolish, Papa, and I am so very sorry. No, Papa ... please let me speak," she begged when her father tried to say something, "because I might not be brave enough tomorrow. I did not elope, you see. I left behind a stupid, stupid note for Kitty, but it was not true. I did not elope. I just wanted to go to London, to be with my aunt and uncle ... and Mr. Wic ... _he_ promised me a ride, is all. I know, Papa ... it was truly very stupid of me to even go with him, but I thought ... I thought he was my friend. Papa, he hurt ... he hurt me," she sobbed, and clung on even more forcefully to her father. "He said he would find a way to do all those horrible things to Lizzy as well, because she had no right to love Mr. Darcy, you see. He saw ... he saw the way they looked at each other at the ball ... and he was angry. I tried to fight him, Papa, but he was drunk, and strong. Can we warn Lizzy, Papa? Warn Lizzy to stay away from that man ... from Wi ..." she felt unable to continue.

"From Wickham, dearest?" Rupert asked, and Lydia nodded amid her tears. Her father brought a tender hand up to her cheek which the girl grabbed as well to plant a grateful kiss on it. "Wickham is gone, Lydia. He will never hurt you or Lizzy again."

Tears coursed freely down Lydia's bruises. "Truly, Papa? How?"

He kissed her forehead. "Mr. Darcy and his cousin made sure of it. Now sleep, dearest." And he watched his daughter's eyes close as he hummed a lullaby that he knew Janine used to sing to the girls when they were young and free. _What is to happen now?_ he asked himself as Lydia settled into an even, quiet breathing. The dark of the night threatened to swallow him, but his stubborn head rearing, Rupert Bennet said to himself, _No. I will conquer this._

* * *

><p>The following day was a bright one for Mr. Darcy as he, in exceptionally high spirits, finished his morning transactions with his steward and solicitors, and saw to the conclusion of several business correspondences he had to do. His cousin had a hard time keeping his laughter away, teasing Darcy mercilessly, "If there was ever a time for people to take advantage of you, cousin, it must be now. You are far too giddy to be watchful of those ledgers, and far too happy to be fastidious, it should be easy enough to cheat you of a few thousand pounds."<p>

"Let me see you try, Michael," Darcy replied dryly - but if he were to be honest, there was a great deal of truth in Michael's observation. Darcy was giddy ... he was happy. He even noticed it himself in some of his business letters, that he was putting a few too many superlatives there which simply was not his style. Thus, he forced himself to pull back, to be his usual staid, stoic, unflinching ...

_I cannot help it! _he finally admitted to himself with a grin._ She is here. In my home! Elizabeth is in my home!_

Elizabeth arrived a couple of hours ago in the Darcy carriage (albeit the unmarked one, to avoid speculation among street watchers). Darcy had impatiently waited for them in the front parlor, overlooking the street, and had repeatedly paced the length of the room to the amusement of Michael. Darcy's answering glares made him laugh even harder such that, to avoid being thrown out by the master of the manor, Michael decided to wait in the library, "mayhap to read romance novels I know you have stashed there somewhere, Darcy ..." - and he guffawed on his way out when Darcy gritted at him to "Begone, Michael!"

It was then, however, that the butler announced the arrival of Mrs. Marianna Gardiner and Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Mrs. Gardiner impressed Darcy as an elegant, intelligent lady, easily mistaken as well to be a lady of fashion ... but from the moment _she_ walked in, eyes shyly turning up to meet his, cheeks the color of clouds of gentle dawn, and lips like dew-brushed petals ... Darcy was enchanted.

Was there a special reason why the words that came to mind were "_Welcome HOME, Elizabeth_"?

Darcy hoped he did not say that aloud, as was his issue last night with Mr. Gardiner - but aside from his cousin sharply elbowing him to perform introductions, nothing seemed to go amiss in those first few minutes. He was not aware that he never really took his eyes off Elizabeth, even while meeting Mrs. Gardiner, nor while introducing his cousin. Neither did he see Mrs. Gardiner and Michael exchange amused looks, and the latter even discreetly adding on an expressive, though miniature, eye-roll.

Darcy saw none of those ... and truth to tell, neither did Elizabeth.

He led his guests up to the bedchamber where Lydia and Mr. Bennet were, and left the family to their private, tearful reunion. He would see them for supper later on - and with an excitement he tried to temper, went to speak with Mrs. Fields about creating an impressive fare this evening, "for some special friends, Mrs. Fields." The housekeeper minutely raised her eyebrows at that, especially after hearing the chuckle of the Colonel nearby, and immediately got the message.

"Very well, Master William," she said serenely. "We aim to please." _One lady above all, it seems,_ she added to herself with a happy smile.

Darcy sat in his study now finishing up some of the day's loose ends, when from the foyer came the imperious voice he knew so well, and so ardently disliked.

"My nephew. Where is he? You will bring me to him immediately."

_That_ was followed by a toadying voice that caused Darcy to groan out loud and grit his teeth in revulsion. "This house is as resplendent as Rosings, Lady Catherine ... and of all this, your daughter will soon be mistress!"

_Over my dead body,_ Darcy muttered to himself, his jaw clenched in anger as he stood up to face the newcomers. It was then that another fact descended on him forcefully. _Bloody hell! Collins must never be made aware of the Bennets' presence in the house - or all our plans will come to naught. Damn!_

Quickly, he penned a note for Bennet telling him of this latest event, and recommending they all stay above stairs - and after instructing a footman to deliver the short missive, straightened up to gear for battle. _This will be ugly_, he thought to himself. And indeed it was.


	16. Day of Reckoning

**Chapter 16**

**"Day of Reckoning"**

"Elizabeth, sit down!" Mr. Bennet exasperatedly ordered his second daughter who had been pacing up and down the room where Lydia finally lay sleeping, exhausted after a tearful and anxious reunion with her sister. They received a note from Mr. Darcy just a few minutes ago informing them of developments downstairs that would require them to remain hidden for the time being. Elizabeth gasped when she learned that Mr. Collins had come, and had wrung her hands in concern as she went from one end of the room to the other, even pausing occasionally to put her ear against the door to check if she would hear anything.

"Lizzy, everything will be fine," said her Aunt Marianna, herself torn between exasperation and amusement at her niece's disquiet, though also understanding it. She was indignant when she learned of what transpired between her niece and the parson. "That lecherous fool!" she whispered, and kissed Elizabeth's forehead in comfort.

"But what is he doing here, aunt? What can he mean by coming here ... with Lady de Bourgh, who is Mr. Darcy's aunt, no less?" She wrung her hands again. "Oh ... what will he tell Mr. Darcy? What if Collins lies to him about me, Aunt Mari?"

It was Rupert Bennet who sighed out a response. "I would think, Lizzy, that our friend is more discerning than you give him credit for, especially when it comes to that fool of a parson. Now, please ... calm down!"

Indeed, Elizabeth knew she was probably getting worked up for nothing - but her disposition made it always difficult to stand by and wait for news of anything. Thus, when her aunt opted to rest in the adjoining bedchamber that had been reserved for their use before supper, and when her father started to doze off in a large armchair beside Lydia's bed, Elizabeth decided, ever so quietly, to sneak out of the room and hide herself somewhere where she could eavesdrop. _Impolitic, I know,_ she said to herself ... _but I need to know._

And to her relief - though consternation colored that, too - she found her way easily enough. _Follow the sound of the hurricane ... aha! _Quickly she dove into an adjoining empty room and hid behind a curtained alcove where to her great satisfaction, she well could hear the storm churning in the next room.

* * *

><p>Darcy paused to expel an exasperated breath just before turning into the foyer, where Lady Catherine de Bourgh was upbraiding the butler for refusing to bring them directly to the master's study. Beside her Collins stood, stupidly mirroring each flaming reproof.<p>

"Insolent man!" exclaimed the lady. "Do you know who I am? I am almost the nearest relation he has in the world, and my daughter will …"

"Lady Catherine," Darcy broke in quietly and gave a brief, curt bow to his manservant who quickly made himself scarce. "I am pleased to see you."

It was true. Today Darcy knew to be a day of reckoning - time for truth and absolutely nothing else but that. He considered sending Collins away while he discussed family business with his aunt, but decided, based on what he heard in the foyer before he came out, that it would be worthwhile to disabuse the sycophantic clergy of misconceptions as well. Determinedly, he led his aunt by the elbow, sweeping past her lackey who felt all the glee of a mouse with rotten cheese and flittered behind his great lady into the appointed room.

As soon as they entered, Lady Catherine de Bourgh turned to her unflinching nephew with all feeling of righteous anger. "Darcy, you can be at no loss to know why I have come. A report of the most alarming nature has reached me: that you have succumbed to the seduction of my own parson's intended … nearly his betrothed! I have advised that he drop all attentions and matrimonial pursuit towards that woman, however. She is but a common flirt who toyed with his affections then shamelessly set her cap on a bigger catch ... _you_, Darcy!"

Tried as he might, Darcy could not help but clench his jaw and roll his eyes. He walked to the window - a habitual place of repose - although this time he did not look outside as was customary, but fixed his unblinking, martial glare on Collins. Lady Catherine continued her droning.

"I have it on good authority that you have been drawn in, seduced by her siren's call! What were you thinking, Darcy? That woman's arts and allurements, in a moment of infatuation, have made you forget what you owe to yourself and to your family! Now she doubtless thinks she has ensnared you to bring her within our sphere in society! Heaven and earth! Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?"

And she stood by Darcy at the window. "Rectify this, Darcy. Put that ambitious girl in her proper place once and for all. It is time. Your engagement to Anne must be declared now." Her gaze was earnest, triumphant, as she clutched her nephew's arm.

Despite his roused anger, Darcy gave a carefully controlled reply. "I disagree," he said and gently disengaged his arm, "and I would thank you not to speak of things you know little about." His eyes went back to Collins, his mind whirling with possibilities of medieval torture for the toad.

Lady Catherine was not pleased. "Anne has waited long enough, Darcy! For as you know, you and she were formed for each other right from your cradles, as the fondest wish of both your mother and mine ..."

"Yes, aunt, I heard it all before, ironically only from you, _after_ my mother died," Darcy responded sharply ... and briefly seeing his aunt taken aback, softened his tone some. "Lady Catherine, I insist we discuss this later. Right now," his eyes slid back to the parson, "I have a pressing issue to cover."

And in three long strides, Darcy was beside the rector who leaned further back in his chair as the tall and athletically-built man loomed over him. Darcy brought his face closer, and in a low voice said, "I warned you about slander, Collins ... I shall destroy you."

"You cannot," the other man whispered, swallowing despite himself.

"You do not think so?" Darcy shot back, wondering at the bravado of the man. He hissed into Collins' ear. "I am a powerful man, master of many lands. Grandson of an earl, scion of a great house, close allies with members of parliament ... and a personal friend of the Archbishop of the church of England. You do not want to test me. I know what you tried to do in Hertfordshire."

This was a double-entendre that Darcy sought to capitalize on. Yesterday he received a letter (with vague names) from Henry van Wart explaining the events of the morning at Longbourn after the ball - and add to what he already knew about Collins, he was filled with disinclination to give the parson any sort of leeway.

Collins had a sudden intake of breath ... and to Darcy's mild surprise, gave the shadow of a leer. "Should you drag my name into that, Mr. Darcy, you must know that it would only fit into my desire. The reputation of your precious Elizabeth would be compromised - and I would win, despite your exalted position."

Darcy smirked back. "But you underestimate me and my allies, Collins. No lady's name even has to make it on record. I can create a situation, a name, and have it backed by witnesses such as the van Warts and some even more powerful cohorts, peers of the realm ... and we shall see whose voice would carry more weight. Mine, Collins. Do you know why?" Darcy put his mouth nearer his enemy's ear to whisper. "Because of my exalted position."

It should be noted that Fitzwilliam Darcy was, by nature, quite loathed to use rank as leverage in undertaking a personal crusade. He often witnessed this behavior among his peers and always considered it abhorrent. However, this situation called for it, if only to shock the smarminess out of this erring vicar who seemed more wily than previously comprehended - a possessor of cunning art that one should not underestimate.

"Darcy!" Lady Catherine called. "What are you discussing with Collins? I must have my share of the conversation!"

Darcy straightened up slowly, and replied, "Ranks, Aunt ... that, and respective spheres in society." He turned to the other man. "We comprehend each other, do we not, Collins?"

"Well, on that I have much to say," interposed the lady. "There are those who aspire to reach beyond the sphere in which they have been brought up. That is the material point of this visit, nephew ... let us settle, once and for all, your marriage to Anne."

Darcy was silent for a few seconds as he regarded his relation. He knew well why his aunt wanted him to marry his cousin. It was for power. For control. _Ridiculous_, Darcy said to himself. And thus he declared evenly, "There will be no marriage between Anne and myself, Aunt. You know this. Neither my cousin nor I desire it."

"Desire! What does that have to do with it?" the imposing woman derided. "I am your superior, yours and Anne's. My daughter will do as instructed ... "

"But I will not," countered Darcy. "You choose to forget that I am my own master, Lady Catherine, the head of the Darcy household ... and for that, I alone have the task to find my own happiness in matrimony, without reference to you or anybody else."

"Happiness? You think you can find it with a young woman of inferior birth, of no importance to the world, and wholly unallied to family? That woman? Bah!" the matron exclaimed. "Dubious character has she! She attempted to lay with my pastor that morning after that country ball or other, with the design to fall with child and pass the bastard off as yours. I know it all, Darcy! Collins confessed it all to me!"

Darcy saw red. It took every ounce of willpower not to throw his own relation and her minion out of his house right there and then. Then he saw a faint rivulet of perspiration down the side of the parson's face - and Darcy smirked.

"You should consider your source, Aunt Catherine," he said, "as that story does not even make a lick of sense. As it is, I have an acquaintance who was there when it all happened, and had to hit your parson on the head with a tree branch to stop him from trying to abuse a woman ... in fact, I still see the bruise by his temple right there. Do you not see it, Aunt Catherine? I was told he lost consciousness for a time."

And he chuckled. "He gave you a cockamamie story to save face, Aunt Catherine," he said. "Tell me, Collins, how did you come up with that story? Did it proceed from the impulse of a moment, or is the result of previous study? Or perhaps," here he kept a straight face, "it is the dictate of your own life story?"

"Well, I never ...!" exclaimed a now flustered Lady Catherine, and Darcy sharply interjected.

"You are correct, my lady ... you never! You never investigated, you never asked, you never even paused to listen, and yet you freely accuse a gentle-bred family of infamous deeds that are attributed to your parson! How could you do it?"

"Well, _they_ are of no consequence! This is not about them," she insisted. "You have a duty to Anne! From infancy you have been destined for each other! Is nothing due to me on that score? Your mother and I planned this, so let me be rightly understood: I will brook no disappointment."

"That makes this situation more pitiable, aunt - however, it does not change my thoughts. I will not marry your daughter. You say my mother was party to such plans for our union. And yet," his voice grew softer as it always did when speaking about his mother, "my strongest recollections of her always involved me being told that happiness in marriage is a matter of chance - that _chance_ of finding _that one person_ I could love and could love me as well."

"People of our sphere do not marry for love, Darcy, and never without attention to wealth and increase in stature. And all the more reason why your attention to that family in Hertfordshire would be tragic for you. Do not expect to be noticed by family and friends if you willfully act against the expectations of all. You will be censured and slighted by everyone connected to you!" She huffed. "My Anne is for you, as you are for her ... both of you descended on the maternal side from the same noble line, and on the father's, from respectable, honorable and ancient families, though untitled. Fortune on both your families is splendid ..."

"Is it truly, Aunt Catherine?" came Darcy's rejoinder. "Do not forget, you ask me to Rosings at least once a year to review your ledgers ..."

The lady blustered her pique. "To prepare you for management of the estate ..."

"And yet Rosings coffers are nearly empty, and I had to pump in a few thousand pounds these last two years, to initiate repairs both on the manor and tenants' homes. Recently, servant wages have been sporadically paid. Anne's dowry is missing some funds. I inquired, Aunt, based on the power of attorney you gave me. I have the letter from your solicitor informing me that a third of Anne's dowry has been withdrawn."

Lady Catherine's thin, angry lips grew visibly pale, even with the heightened color of her cheeks. Her livid glares, however, were met with calm, unapologetic looks from Darcy. As for Collins, he felt his heart sink, unable to reconcile his views of his patroness' greatness with what he was hearing. Silence wrapped the room. Finally, Darcy said quietly, "I know it all, Lady Catherine."

She was unmoved. "It is of no matter. The estate is yours, at any rate, by virtue of your impending marriage. Surely it is right that you invest in it, as you do with the rest of Darcy holdings, and ensure that it is operating optimally ..."

"Rosings is not part of Darcy holdings, madam, and it will never be." He sighed, reaching with all his might for all filial feelings for his mother's sister. "Aunt Catherine, please hear me: there will be no marriage. Not only would Anne and I be miserable in our union our entire lives, but the notion itself is abhorrent to both of us. We cannot do it."

"Anne will grow on your affections ..."

"No, Aunt, not that way. I am certain."

"Anne would be a perfect mistress of your estate ..."

"No, madam. Not at all."

"But an alliance with a de Bourgh ..."

Against the backdrop of his aunt's high-pitched, imperious statements that faded into a desperate whisper, Darcy's tone was quiet but firm, a solid rock in a maelstrom of emotions. He earnestly hoped that he would not have to say any more. Much as he wished to establish his point, he had no desire to occasion pain in his aunt, nor injure her pride - for sadly, not only was the name de Bourgh largely inconsequential within the Ton (not that it mattered to Darcy), his cousin Anne was certainly the most unaccomplished, uneducated female among the peer families of Darcy's acquaintance. These unflattering qualities unfortunately were even magnified by Anne's extreme timidity and ill-health. Darcy could see no avenue where she could navigate as mistress of Pemberley, Manor Sofia, or other Darcy properties. No matter where he looked, the conclusion was the same, and he hoped Lady Catherine would see it as well.

_Vain wishes._

Lady Catherine's eyes suddenly flared back to life with all the vindictiveness of a woman scorned. She stepped closer to Darcy ... and in one quick motion, swung her palm toward his face and soundly slapped him. Darcy, for a moment shocked and angered, bit back his indignation, and only looked upon his aunt coolly.

"Obstinate, headstrong boy!" she hissed. "I am ashamed of you! You are lost to every feeling of propriety and delicacy. And for what? For the attention of a woman so wholly beneath you! This is what is true, you shameful lout: that alliance you seek with that hussy from Hertfordshire will be a disgrace. Your name will never even be mentioned by any of us. Do you hear me?"

Darcy again rolled his eyes, part mockery and part anger. "Those are heavy misfortunes, Lady Catherine ... but to be the husband of such a woman as to whom I believe you refer, must have extraordinary sources of happiness attached to his situation - such as encouragement and companionship, and true meeting of the intellect and hearts - that he could, upon the whole, have no cause to repine."

"Insufferable man!" the lady replied through clenched teeth. "I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find a more reasonable person!"

Darcy laughed without humor. "You still do not see, do you, Lady Catherine? The arguments with which you have supported this extraordinary application have been as frivolous as the application was ill-judged. You have widely mistaken my character, if you think I can be worked on by such persuasions as these. Now your parson" - he looked disdainfully at the cowering man - "might approve, nay relish, your interference in his affairs; but you certainly have no right to concern yourself in mine. I insist, therefore, to be importuned no further on the subject."

"Not so hasty, if you please. I have one more thing to say. I am no stranger to the particulars of that family's youngest daughter's disgraceful conduct. Oh, I know it all! Her special object of flirtation is the son of your late father's steward! We know his taste for young unplucked virgins, do we not? It is almost certain that _that girl _had given herself in an immoral fashion to an equally immoral man. That is the kind of family they are, Darcy, and how astounding that you are willing to align yourself with them! Their mother I cannot speak anything good about, as she had the gall to drive me out of Longbourn, which by law my parson has the right of ..."

"You went to Longbourn?" Darcy was aghast. _Dear Lord, what does she know?_

"I did!" the lady retorted. "Uncouth woman! I desired to speak to that tart you think so highly of, but that loud screeching mother refused me an audience. None of her girls came to meet me, though I know all of them to be at home. The gall ...! And yet you ...!"

_Too close, too close, _Darcy thought to himself. _I must get her out of here._

"Lady Catherine," he said tightly. "I have nothing further to say. You know my sentiments."

"You are then resolved to have her?" At his silence, she harrumphed. "It is well. You refuse then to oblige me ... you are determined to ruin us. I came to try you, Darcy. Depend upon it, I will carry my point."

"And I will carry mine." Darcy's voice, low and flint-like, caught the vitriolic woman's attention, and Darcy knew at that moment that _she herself_ knew: _she had lost_. She had pushed him beyond his limits. Darcy faced her squarely and warned. "You and your lackey have slandered me and my friends enough. I will stand for no more. That family you are trying to destroy, Lady Catherine, they are honorable people ... they are real. They are a family that concern each other with each other's happiness, and they work hard with what they have. Can you say the same of you? Not with what I know of your affairs, Lady Catherine. Leave those decent people alone. They have my full backing against whatever you have to throw at them - and those in the Ton who know me and whom I call friends would have too much sense to join in the scorn that you try to propagate."

"You are threatening me?"

"No, madam. I am only telling you things as they are. The full weight of the Darcy name - and I wager, the Fitzwilliams - will not be too trifle to dismiss."

"You are insolent," the woman replied testily, and in that manner walked to the door, with the parson still flittering about like a fly. She turned one last time. "I take no leave of you, Darcy. I send no compliments to your upbringing. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased." And she went. Darcy heard the carriage drive away and slowly breathed out, as he sat down and leaned his head far back against the back rest, exhausted.

_What an awful mess.  
><em>

* * *

><p>The curtained alcove where she had been all this time was a connecting doorway to the parlor, which explained the clear transmission of sound from one room to the next. Elizabeth sat on the floor, fairly reeling from all she had heard - and she could not help but weep quietly. He defended them - he defended her! Even with all the terrible lies that Mr. Collins had passed on Lady Catherine, and had tried to foist on to Mr. Darcy, he believed her. Mr. Darcy believed her.<p>

Slowly Elizabeth stood and, breathing in deeply, wiped her tears away. She could hear no sound coming from the adjoining room, and further curiosity getting the better of her, she slowly turned the knob and swung open the door ...

And came face to face with a very surprised Fitzwilliam Darcy.

"Miss Elizabeth!"

"Mr. Darcy!"

They stared at each other for a few moments, both flustered, until Darcy noticed faint tear streaks on Elizabeth's cheeks, and the rumpled state of her skirts. He crossed his arms and slowly narrowed his eyes at her. "Miss Elizabeth ... how long have you been listening?"

The young lady had the grace to flush, but tried to evade the topic with feigned indignation. "How can you think, sir ... that is, I ..." she sighed. "Long enough, sir." Casting her eyes down, "Forgive me. I did not mean to intrude."

"I did ask you to stay above-stairs, madam." He said sternly, quite enjoying the sheepish look on his guest's face, and then the brief look of exasperation that she immediately quelled. _God, she can be magnificently stubborn._

"I am aware, sir. It was simply ... I know it was not proper, but I needed to find out what was being said, Mr. Darcy. Especially after what that man ..." She looked away, unable to continue.

_After what the idiot tried to accomplish with you. _Darcy again felt the stirrings of anger directed at the parson. "And you heard?" he asked gently. "All of it?"

She nodded. Silence. Then a whisper. "You came to our defense."

He shrugged. "I would do more."

"You are an extraordinary friend."

_I would be more,_ Darcy thought, but stopped his mouth as he watched her lips curl shakily into a grateful smile, and her eyes - her fine, fine eyes - twinkled gently at him, bringing Darcy a burst of joy. _Extraordinary sources of happiness ...!_

"You are worth it," he said quietly, and without much thought, reached up to push back a lock of hair that had escaped her pins.

It was then that the door opened forcefully, and in marched a very irate Colonel Fitzwilliam who frankly blared. "Pour me a drink, Darcy! That old dragon's breath may just as well burn the breeches off of old Boney." He stopped and his eyes grew round. "Oh! Did I interrupt something?"

Darcy sighed. _I will kill him_, he swore.


	17. What Now?

**Chapter Seventeen**  
><strong>"What Now?"<strong>

It was agreed, right on the day of the Lady de Bourgh debacle, that Lydia would be moved to Gracechurch Street at the Gardiner residence, where she would be surrounded by things and people familiar to her. This - in case anyone would put his or her nose where it did not belong - would add legitimacy to the Longbourn claim that Lydia had been taken to her London relatives to avail of better medical care than what could be received in Hertfordshire.

Darcy was sorry to see them go, as a considerable part of him had truly hoped that Miss Elizabeth would stay at the Manor Sofia to nurse her sister - but on the other hand, he knew the impropriety of it all, and the danger of letting the Bennets be discovered by others as being guests in the Darcy residence. For instance, a few hours after Lady Catherine left the Manor Sofia, the Earl of Matlock had come to visit briefly as well, necessitating the delivery of another short missive to the Bennets and a request to stay above-stairs until further notice - which made Darcy wonder half in amusement whether Miss Elizabeth would abide by his request this time. The Earl, however, was given more to deep affection for his nephew as well as the memory of his beloved sister Anne, who was Darcy's mother; therefore, he was in no way as blustery as Lady Catherine had been. His sole request: "Only assure me, Darcy, that you will not act purely on impulse and sully the legacy that your mother had imprinted on the Darcy name."

The sentiment _did_ please Darcy immensely, and he warmly reached out for his uncle's hand and said, "I swear, Uncle Robert, that when the time comes, the woman I choose will be a credit to both the Darcy name and the Fitzwilliam's." And with that the older man was gratified, and left his nephew alone with Michael.

The cousins were now in the billiard room, doing a few rounds of the game where Michael easily - and uncharacteristically - claimed all wins against a somewhat distracted Darcy. They had just seen the Longbourn party into their carriage to take them to Gracechurch Street, and Darcy was still sporting the rather poorly-suppressed smile he had on all throughout that lovely dinner prepared by Mrs. Fields.

_Besotted_, Michael chuckled, and quite approved of the fact. He found he liked Miss Elizabeth, and her father and London relations were not ones to give anyone cause to blush, either. They were intelligent, sensible people, knowledgeable in many things more pertinent than tedious London gossip. That alone impressed Michael as they discussed the current war in the continent and its overreaches into the sociopolitical and economic arenas of England. Miss Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner cleverly articulated their own solid thoughts on the matter alongside the men - and both glared at the Colonel when he spontaneously declared, "I had not known that womenfolk can have the wherewithal to discuss these things with such sharpness!" At this, silence fell on the intimately-set table, and as Michael Fitzwilliam blubbered an apology of sorts, Darcy himself chuckled amusedly and sent the whole table into laughter as well.

"That will teach you to make chauvinistic pronouncements with _these_ particular ladies in company, Michael," laughed Darcy. "The war would have been over early if _they_, indeed, had the chance to rip into Bonaparte."

In all, an enjoyable time was had by all, and Michael knew of no other time when his cousin appeared more at ease in company ... and he liked it.

Lydia Bennet understandably did not join in the dinner party, and had refused to see her rescuers out of fear and humiliation. "Oh, Lizzy," she sobbed when told about the upcoming dinner with their host. "They must think I am the stupidest girl in all of England! I cannot face them ... especially not Mr. Darcy!"

Elizabeth tried to assure her that Mr. Darcy thought no such thing - that he was a gentleman who only wanted Lydia safe. Lydia sniffed, "He truly must like you, Lizzy ... even that awful man thought so, and he ..." She finished off her statement with quiet tears as she turned away from her sister, and faded away into sleep as Elizabeth tenderly stroke her hair and kissed her before going down to be escorted by her father to dinner.

Much later, when it was time to leave the Darcy residence and transfer to Gracechurch Street, Lydia let her uncle Edward Gardiner carry her, having vehemently refused to be touched by a footman, to the waiting carriage downstairs. Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam waited at the bottom of the steps, the gaiety of earlier's supper party giving way to a somberness on behalf of the injured young lady. As the little procession passed them, Lydia ventured to steal a glance at them, despite her fear ... and found no censure there at all. Only gentle compassion.

"Uncle ... Uncle Edward," Lydia suddenly whispered. "Would you ... would you put me down, please? Only for a while?" Edward paused uncertainly and looked to Rupert questioningly, and the father stepped forward to tenderly touch his daughter in query.

"Lydia? Is there something you need, dear?" Rupert asked.

"I want to be put down for a while, Papa. Please. I just ..." and her lips trembled with ready tears. Gently, Edward set Lydia on wobbly legs and with her father on the other side of her, guided her toward the two younger gentlemen. Despite her whole body's tremor, mostly born from high emotions, Lydia did the best curtsey she could and sniffed out her words, even if she felt unequal to the task of looking at them in the eye.

"Mr. D-Darcy, C-Colonel ..." she whispered, "I thank you for f-finding me and rescuing me from W-Wickh ... from him. I am sure you th-think me stupid for trusting him, but I censure myself even more. I am s-sorry for all the mortification I have brought to my f-family, and even to you. E-Especially you, Mr. Darcy. They told me much of what happened, what you have done. I am ... I am heartily ashamed of myself." And before her legs completely gave way, Lydia leaned on her father, sobbing in remorse.

"Miss Lydia," Darcy began softly, "please think no more of it. You were an unknowing victim in the hands of a known cad. I am simply glad we were able to retrieve you ... please, now you must get better."

Colonel Fitzwilliam added his smile. "Indeed, Miss Lydia. We are glad you are back with your family."

And with that, Edward Gardiner again swept up his niece into his arms, and Lydia buried her tear-stained face in her uncle's chest. Elizabeth's heart ached for her sister as well and found compassionate tears flowing down her cheeks. As they walked to the awaiting carriage, she felt a gentle tug on her hand, and a piece of cloth was slipped into her palm. It was a handkerchief.

"Keep it, please," whispered Mr. Darcy. "Forever, if you like."

Elizabeth nodded gratefully, and later that night as in many nights from then on, in the dreamy spaces of her room, she would bring that little piece of cloth up to her cheek and imagine it to be his gentle hand reaching out to touch her face. In the Manor Sofia, Darcy in turn envied that insignificant item in some small measure, that it was as near to Elizabeth as he himself wanted to be. _May they catch less of your tears, Miss Elizabeth,_ he said, _than they do your brilliant smiles._

* * *

><p>Days flew swiftly during the next fortnight that the Bennets were in London. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam called on Gracechurch Street often, once even bringing another young officer instrumental to Lydia's rescue, a certain Captain Drummond. Lydia, for the most part refraining from company, was caught unawares of the trio's arrival one time as she came into the parlor one morning after having spent some time in the small, now snow-splotched garden at the back of the house. She saw the uniformed men and immediately started to panic, but just as quickly tried to regulate her breathing just as Lizzy taught her to. Aunt Mari was nearby to hold her hand, infusing her with a little more courage than what she was feeling, especially when she forced herself to face the third man. She recognized him.<p>

"Y-You are the o-other man to come and r-rescue me," she stammered, her face turning beet red once more and tears threatening to spill. "I-I th-thank you." And with that, her heart and spirit spent, she whirled and rushed out of the parlor into her chamber upstairs where she locked herself in for the almost the rest of the day.

Later that night, she whispered to Lizzy who shared the bed with her, "What if I am with child, Lizzy?" She knew enough, from eavesdropping on gossipy ladies of Meryton, of how babies came about, and the idea scared her half to death. She did not want _that man's_ child.

Elizabeth smiled sadly as she caressed her youngest sister's flushed face. "Then we shall find a way to keep you safe, dearest. Safe and happy, somehow." She pulled Lydia's trembling body close to her, partly to comfort her but also because she had no notion what to say anymore, though she had mulled that subject over and over in her mind. Aunt Mari would always say, "we will cross the bridge when we get to it," but that hardly helped to settle the severe disquiet in her heart.

_All my dreams - all my hopes - may just be lost_, Elizabeth thought morosely, _for Mr. Darcy will be forever gone. _She could not escape the pain that wrapped her heart at this thought ... and in the secrecy of many deep nights, she would give way to bitter tears that were all caught by Mr. Darcy's handkerchief.

* * *

><p>About the twelfth day after the Elizabeth had gone from his home (and Darcy could hardly believe that it already had been a half-month since Netherfield!), Darcy was finishing up some correspondence with solicitors and associates alike, his mind already planning another call to the Gardiner residence later that day. He knew that the Bennets were to stay a few days more to try to ascertain Lydia's gravidity, if ever ... and from there determine what to do. All that was sure for now was that Lydia would be brought home to Longbourn before her situation became apparent, and then would be taken away again, ostensibly to live with the Gardiners from then on. The cover story could be polished later ... with two promising possibilities actually being offered by Darcy to Rupert Bennet during one of those times when the gentlemen found themselves locked at an intense game of chess, and the subject came up.<p>

"She could be respectably married to one of my more well-off tenants who lost his wife a year ago ... I know he would not ask for more than for Miss Lydia to be the mistress of his home," Darcy said.

"Hmm-hmm," was all the reply that Rupert gave.

"Or ... I have another couple in mind, an excellent man and woman, who would be eager to raise the babe as their own, in the absence of a child of their own flesh and blood ..."

"Hmm-hmm," again said Rupert, and he looked intensely at his young friend.

"The Gardiners are planning a visit to the Lake District in summer. Miss Lydia could join them and detour to my home ... and, if you hum at me one more time, Bennet ..." he smirked.

"Why are you doing this, Darcy?" Bennet blurted, and Darcy could only look at him stunned. "I think I know, but I need to hear it from you. I cannot believe it is simply out of empathy for what we are going through - although there is certainly that - but you have gone through so much trouble, so much mortification, on behalf of my family, and it does not appear that you are about to cease. Why? It cannot be because of an old ma ..."

"Your daughter is ... important to me ..." Darcy allowed his words to tumble out of him before he lost his courage.

Bennet raised his eyebrows at him, reminiscent of _someone else_. "Lydia?" Bennet asked, and laughed upon seeing Darcy's aghast expression. Then his look became serious. "Darcy," he began a trifle hesitantly. "You do know that you are putting yourself in a very precarious situation. Much as I am pleased for my daughter, and would want very much to have you see this through, a man of your stature, your consequence in society ... well ..." Bennet let his unspoken thoughts sink into the space between them.

And he was met with silence.

After a while, Darcy sighed, and with steepled fingers, looked deeply into the other man's eyes. "Not too long ago, I faced the same sentiments from my aunt," he said, "even though your platforms come from vastly different places. I told her these words, Bennet - and I say this not to impress, much less to prevaricate: that to be the husband of such a woman as your daughter would bring such extraordinary happiness that one, on the whole, would have no cause to repine. Sir, I stand by my sentiments still."

Darcy knew that he had as much fully declared his intentions ... and for some reason, he felt at peace.

Bennet leaned back and stared at Darcy, his eyes suspiciously moist. "Have you spoken to Elizabeth?" he asked in a raw voice.

Darcy shook his head, and Bennet took a cleansing breath. "A favor then, Darcy. Not yet. Not yet. Let us see what happens with Lydia's situation ... and when we know already, we will closely determine if you still feel the same way. Please," he raised his hand as Darcy attempted to speak. "It is for her sake as well as yours. You are my friend ... and in this small way, I can take care of _you_ as you have taken care of _me_. And know this," and at this Bennet stood up and extended his hand toward Darcy who also rose to his feet, "when the time comes ... if it comes ... I cannot part with my Lizzy for any man less worthy."

Darcy not only grasped the hand offered - he pulled Bennet to himself in the spirit that the sentiment was given: the spirit of family.

* * *

><p>"Come!" Darcy was broken out of his reverie by a servant's knock on his door, and upon his bid to enter, was given the unwelcome news which he met with an almost audible groan, that Louisa Hurst and Caroline Bingley had come and were awaiting him in the front parlor. <em>Not now<em>, he protested to himself.

Sealing the last missive he had just finished, Darcy stood up with a sigh and went to meet his guests. His eyes rolled in disgust when, just before he entered the room, he overheard Miss Bingley comment on the stark simplicity of its decor. "Truly, Louisa," she exclaimed, "I shall get Mr. Darcy to change all this once I am mistress ...!

_Oh, just be quiet, woman,_ Darcy gritted in exasperation as he entered the room.

"My dear Mr. Darcy!" at once began the cloying specimen known as Miss Bingley. "It is wonderful to be back in civilization with you! I wish I had been able to escape the horrid backwoods as expediently as you had!" She gave a flirtatious little titter that set Darcy's teeth on edge.

"Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst," Darcy said politely, moving away smoothly before Miss Bingley could latch on to him. "How may I be of service to you this morning?"

"Oh." Miss Bingley seemed somewhat put out by the tepid greeting bestowed on her person, but quite quickly recovered as well. "Well, Mr. Darcy. We have come to speak to you about Charles. We arrived back in Town two days ago, and glad as we are that he has agreed to spend the Christmas season here in Town, we need you to convince him to stay! Have him give up Netherfield altogether before that awful, awful family get their claws more entrenched into him!"

_They arrived two days ago? How odd that Bingley has not sent me word,_ Darcy frowned, but decided to let the conversation play out. "Give up an estate, Miss Bingley?" he replied. "I hardly think that is wise. Bingley is acquitting himself creditably in his management of Netherfield, from what I understand from his letter to me last week. He would have done your father proud." He furrowed his brow. "What family, may I ask, are you so anxious about?"

Miss Bingley this time rolled her eyes. "Why, the Bennets, of course! They seem to think that they are of our sphere, and that tasteless Mrs. Bennet is trying her best to promote a match between Charles and the eldest daughter. It is not to be borne, Mr. Darcy!"

"They are getting increasingly attached, sir," Mrs. Hurst stressed a little more quietly than her sister, "and we are only concerned that Charles does not know what he is getting into."

"How do you mean, madam?" Darcy asked cautiously.

"Well ... they have relatives in _Cheapside_, sir ... from _trade_! Would that not be disgraceful, if Charles were to attach himself to them?"

Darcy breathed in his relief - _they know nothing!_ He turned to the matter at hand, and arching his eyebrows said deliberately, "Is not the Bingley wealth directly from trade, Mrs. Hurst? And yet I have attached myself to your family - to Charles, as his friend," he added quickly when he saw Miss Bingley smile with glee. "Nothing more, Miss Bingley." _Do not get any more absurd ideas, madam._

"This is rather different," Mrs. Hurst said lamely.

"Is it?" Darcy readily challenged. "I do not see how. You have not even met these relatives, madam. For all you know, they might be as rich as Croesus himself!"

"Oh, but Mr. Darcy," interjected Miss Bingley, "we have met his sister Mrs. Bennet, and we wager that those siblings are cut from the same mold!"

Darcy found that worthy of a chuckle, and could not resist putting in, "As you and Charles are from the same mold, Miss Bingley?" He grinned when he saw their flabbergasted looks. "I have met the Bennet relatives, madam," and here he heard the sisters gasp, "They are wonderful people ... and quite moneyed, I would say, though this hardly matters. Do you know we have the same physician? From what I hear, not many people are able to procure Dr. Allen's expertise, as he services a very select clientele. Bingley tried to get into his roster ... he failed, did he not?"

He gazed severely at the two women. "But here is more to the point, ladies. Miss Bennet is a gentleman's daughter; Bingley is an aspiring gentleman. Thus far, they are equal, with your brother even getting the greater benefit of a possible union. Trust _me_ on this matter."

To that the sisters had nothing more to say, and ended the visit on a very sour note.

Back in his study, Darcy dissected all he had heard. He wanted to talk to Bingley - naturally, to glean if possible the presence of any whisperings in the Meryton neighborhood about Lydia's predicament (for pleased as he was to hear of Mrs. Bennet's fierce protectiveness of her family, a part of him could not help but wonder if the woman would revert to type) ... but more than that, he wanted to hear about Bingley himself. It would be fair to suppose that Darcy had some concerns about his friend's attachment, and consequently Miss Bennet's. Darcy had often seen Bingley in and out of love before, and he knew his friend's character to be more easily persuaded than most. Had his sisters talked him into leaving Netherfield, and Miss Bennet, for good? The two letters he had from Bingley this fortnight were effusive of his regard for the eldest Bennet daughter ... had anything changed?

_Not that I can insert myself in his affairs, however,_ Darcy mused, _though with another I have been doing much of that, albeit with good reason. Any interference with Bingley would serve no good purpose except perhaps hurt him ... and the Bennets, which I cannot, will not, do._

Then Darcy remembered that the Bingleys had arrived two days ago, and that Charles had not communicated with him at all. That was quite uncharacteristic of the Charles Bingley he knew.

_It is a bit worrisome,_ he admitted.

Determined then to find out more, Darcy prepared to go to his club for luncheon, as that was often where he met up with Charles. Flinging wide the front door of his townhouse, he came face to face with the object of his search, himself poised to knock for admittance to the master.

Charles Bingley had a dark and anxious look on his face.

_Oh dear,_ thought Darcy. _What now?_


	18. Winter of Discontent

**Author's Note: Eeek! Too long a delay! Sorry about that. Holiday shopping is .. tedious.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eighteen<br>"Winter of Discontent"**

Bingley was glaring at Darcy.

Of all the inane things that should come to Darcy's mind, it was that he had never seen Bingley truly angry at him before. He felt he should probably watch out for a striking fist, if his friend's dark countenance was anything to go by.

No such event occurred, thankfully ... but there they stood on the stoop of the Manor Sofia, one the epitome of patience and cool detachment (although inwardly bursting with curiosity) and the other a spectacle of heightened emotions, as evidenced by the deepening hue of cheeks, and eyes vacillating between resentment, indignation, confusion and an unmistakable dash of supplication for counsel. For several moments they faced each other wordlessly, each alert to the fact that extreme emotions had best be regulated first if anything productive was to come out of this meeting.

Finally, the master of the manor broke the impasse with a sigh. "Would you like to come in, Bingley?" he asked, and was surprised when the younger man snorted.

"Into your house, or into your confidence, Darcy?" came the derisive retort, and when Darcy raised his eyebrows at such uncharacteristic brusqueness, rudeness even, Bingley pursed his lips and muttered, "Fine. Your house then," and followed Darcy back into the latter's well-appointed study. Immediately, a glass of top brandy was placed before him by an efficient Darcy servant. Bingley downed the contents in one gulp, leading Darcy to once more raise his eyebrows in query. More so when Bingley paced up and down the room, throwing a glare at Darcy here and there.

And finally, words. "You should have told me, Darcy. I had a right to know."

"Know what, Bingley?" Darcy proceeded carefully, wanting that his friend give him the proverbial lay of the land first before he revealed anything.

"About Lydia Bennet, dammit!"

He was first met with silence, then Darcy replied calmly, "Yet now you do." It was not his secret to tell, yet he knew too that Bingley, with his attachment to the eldest Miss Bennet, _did_ need to know about this turn on events if he was to come to an informed decision. "It seems to me that you have lost nothing, Charles."

"Nothing? _Nothing?_ How can you say that, Darcy? Jane - Miss Bennet - and I were getting to be so close ... " and he trailed off into deep thought, missing entirely Darcy's sharp intake of breath as he forced himself to be calm.

"And this changes things for you?" he asked as levelly as he could, and for some reason found himself holding his breath.

"I ... I ... I do not know."

How could Darcy justify the sudden flare of anger and disappointment he felt at that confession? He could not ... for he of all people knew exactly how a soiled reputation could cause the downfall of a man in society - a matter of particular import, perhaps, to one so nouveau riche as the Bingleys whose hold in society was still so fresh, so tenuous. Even now Darcy remembered the conversation he had with Rupert Bennet about Darcy himself possibly changing his heart and intent toward Elizabeth once the full plight of Lydia Bennet's folly came to light. He understood and applauded Bennet's caution, though he felt it unnecessary, as it indeed seemed to have been designed more for Darcy's benefit. Darcy honestly could not ask anything more, or anything less, of Bingley, could he?

_Except that _... Darcy knew that Bingley was always _too_ open with his feelings, even to the point many times of being incautious with repercussions, such as raising expectations and inciting talk within society at large. Bingley's rather indiscriminate attentions would understandably have spurred the expectations of Meryton and wishes of Miss Bennet (certainly of Mrs. Bennet) - and a sudden withdrawal would undoubtedly leave the Bennets with disappointed hopes and as possible victims of gossip.

_And grieve the heart of her most beloved sister. _

"You should have told me, Darcy," Bingley again stated, his voice taking on a hard edge once more as he glared at his friend. "If I had not been kept in the dark about this, I would have ..."

"You would have what, Bingley?" Darcy threw back. "Would you have helped me lay all the groundwork that we have - which has been stupendously successful, by the way, partly because only a handful of people knew about it at the crucial start - or would you have cut and run, as I think you are doing now?" He pinned Bingley with his most fearsome glare.

"That is hardly fair, Darcy, and you know it!"

"Is it not? You just said that you and Miss Bennet were becoming so close ... and yet here you are now in London, she in Longbourn, and you not certain if what you know now about Miss Lydia changes things between you and Miss Bennet. You do not call that cutting and running?"

"I wanted to propose marriage to her!" Bingley cried. "But how do I do that now if her family is involved in a scandal? What is going to happen to mine, if we connect with a family like hers? That was why I wished you had told me, Darcy - I would not have paid so much marked attention to Jane Bennet if I had known she would be unmarriageable material!"

Darcy found himself clenching his jaw. "Good God, Bingley! You make her sound like cattle rounded up for breeding inspection!" He breathed in deeply, finding an odd pleasure when he saw Bingley blush, and added, "You should not have paid marked attention, _period_, as what you had demonstrated with Miss Bennet if you had no intention of seeing it through. Did Bennet not warn you himself?"

"I had every such intention, Darcy, until this one came about," snapped Bingley, and then he groaned in frustration. "Darcy ... I did not come to fight with you, you know how I despise that. But truly ..." he sat down, the wind suddenly out of him, as he roughly ran his hand through his already ruffled hair, "how do you expect me to react, given that there is that specter of a tarnish with them - a stain that may be permanent if Miss Lydia's folly should result in a child? How can I in clear conscience attach myself to that? Who would have Caroline? I do not believe I have it in me to ride out the scandal. Not in the circles I had been working so hard to inhabit someday, at least. You see my predicament, Darcy."

_Honesty - there is at least that_, Darcy thought ruefully ... for indeed, was Bingley not saying those things that he himself would have been pressed to ask, had he not been involved intricately in the whole Lydia Bennet saga right from the beginning? Darcy understood all too well the nuances, the viciousness of the Ton.

But he _had_ involved himself with the situation - heart, body, mind and soul. And given the chance or the need, Darcy knew he would do it all over again. For Elizabeth ... all for her. _I detest the Ton, anyway. _

He looked at Bingley before him and sighed, remembering how very young and inexperienced the younger man truly was in the world he was trying to navigate, and for that Darcy could extend much grace to him.

"I do understand, Bingley, and believe me when I say that all that was done, was done for the best. Could you honestly tell me that you would have stayed in Hertfordshire and not balked at the company of the Bennets had we told you the matter at hand right from the first?" He saw Bingley pale at this. "No, my friend, you would have left ... understandably not out of malicious intent - or at least I hope not - but out of that instinctive self-preservation that you have just so fully explained. And then where would that leave the Bennets? At the mercy of gossip-mongers who would cruelly cut them in public! They could never recover from that. They would have been completely ruined, Bingley. Would you have preferred that?"

"Well, no ... but still ..."

"There was no other way, Bingley, for at that time we had no way of knowing where Miss Lydia was. Time was of the essence, and we had to buy as much of it as we could," Darcy explained. "You staying in Netherfield to carry on as well and as normally as you had was crucial to success in stymying rumors ... and by a large margin, we can and do count the whole episode as successful. Even now, plans are being worked out should Miss Lydia be with child, and again, I am confident of keeping everything out of the gossip vine. That is, if the knowledge of the entire event was kept from your sisters, Bingley. Was it?" Darcy leaned forward in his desk to look at Bingley in the eye.

His friend huffed. "Of course, Darcy! What do you take me for? I know how Caroline and Louisa can be."

"Good," came the satisfied response. "Keep it so. I would add too that Lydia Bennet is just a child, Bingley ... a child who made a terrible, terrible mistake, but one who is aptly sorry for it and has learned much from it. Can you not be willing to give her a chance?" Darcy was met with silence, and expelling breath after his diatribe, said quietly, "I want to know, Bingley ... how did you learn of these events?"

Bingley sighed. "Jane told me. It was three days ago. I went to Longbourn to speak privately with her ..."

* * *

><p><em>I knew why he wanted to speak with me, Lizzy ... and oh! My heart was beating so fast, for I so desired to hear him bring me his question. But dear Lizzy, I could not let him ... not without first acquainting him of recent events, and all the uncertainty that is wrapping our family at the moment. Sweet sister, do you blame me for this? I could not approach matrimony with anything less than total honesty ...<em>

"My dear, dear Jane ... No, I do not blame you at all. Only that ..." Elizabeth sniffed and let her words fade away, as she sat on the cold stone bench with her letter in the back garden of the Gardiner home. It was hard to believe that just this morning she eagerly anticipated news from her most beloved sister - news pertaining to this matter but with a much happier tone - for Jane's past missives had regaled her with accounts of closer and closer understanding between her and Mr. Bingley. Their mother, as expected, had been beyond excited at the prospect, although in an earlier letter, Jane had reported that "Mama has been uncharacteristically quiet, Lizzy, though I surmise it is because of Lyddie - but rather than her nerves, she truly has been focused on us, and even sang an old Welsh lullaby for us one evening while Mary was at the instrument. It made me cry, Lizzy. I have missed all of us together so badly."

And now her darling Jane was crying for another reason. Elizabeth went back to Jane's letter which she must be in a fair way to memorizing.

_I told him all, Lizzy - everything. Even before he could ask me anything, for I thought it wiser to take such course before I lost heart completely. "I beg you, sir," I said, "to allow me to speak, and if by the end of my narrative, you still would be my friend, I would consider it a most precious gift." Mama was in the parlor with us, in a far corner to accord me and Mr. Bingley privacy, but I knew she was aware of our topic, for I saw tears coursing down her face. She tried bravely to hide it, though. I am certain she would have preferred that Mr. Bingley not know of anything until he had proposed, but even she realized it would be the height of dishonor and in all likelihood breed resentment and disrespect in marriage. She said herself that she would not have me unhappy, Lizzy - now I hold on to those words.  
><em>  
>"Thank you, Mama," Elizabeth whispered.<p>

_Mr. Bingley sat there stunned. I know not how else to describe him. At the end of it all, he stood up on trembling legs, as did I, and he stared at me for a long time. Finally he took my hand, kissed it and whispered, "I thank you for your confidence, madame. I assure you that nothing of your family's situation shall ever pass my lips ... but I have to go. Goodbye, Jane. And I will only add, God bless you." And he left. My heart shattered within me, Lizzy. I heard him sob as he went out, and he even softly called my name once. He loves me - I know this, Lizzy - but perhaps not enough._

"He does not know the treasure you are, dear one," said Elizabeth angrily.

_I heard he left for London this morning. I do not know if I will see him again. Oh sweet sister! How I wish you with me now! But fear not for me ... I shall be alright in due time. My mother is a pillar of strength, uncanny though that may sound, and Mary and Catherine are quiet comforts, though they do not take your place as my dearest friend. I am eager to see everyone for Christmas, as is our tradition, and would be happy to receive our youngest sister again. I do not blame her. Please know this for her sake. And I doubt not at all that you are taking the best care of her. _

_And finally, send my regards to Mr. Darcy. For all he has done for our family, he deserves so much more than my paltry words. Thus, dear Lizzy, I charge you to be kind to him, to be sweet ... to accumulate as much joy as you can to cover the sorrows that touch us all. This is the means to ensure my hope. And never forget I love you. Your affectionate sister, J.B._

"Oh, my darling Jane," Elizabeth sobbed, even as she shook her head at the mysterious way her sister had ended her letter. _Ensure your hope how? For I would give anything to see you happy._ "I love you too," she said aloud as she wept into her hands, her whole body racked in sorrow at the pain her sister was going through.

A few steps away, Darcy watched her - had been watching her a few minutes now, actually - and felt his heart as burdened as hers. _This is something I cannot make right for you, Elizabeth,_ he thought. _I am sorry. Bingley has made his choice ... and I have made mine._ He pushed himself up from the wall he had been leaning on and quietly approached Elizabeth to drape his great coat over the lady's shoulders. Surprised at the sudden warmth and contact, Elizabeth looked up to find Mr. Darcy's gentle smile ... and at that same time, one thought ignited between the two of them: _hope_.

* * *

><p>Jane Bennet stared absently at the snowflakes that were slowly gathering on the ground and blanketing everything below the window where she stood. <em>Cold<em>, she thought to herself, _everything is draped in cold._ "How very much a picture of my heart," she whispered, watching her breath form a circle on the glass pane. Impetuously, she drew a heart on that misted figure, and wrote the initials "C.B." inside it - then before she could dwell too much on a face that was locked in her memory, she swiped her hand at the drawing to erase it.

She was done crying, she told herself - but even as she said that, she felt her eyes sting. She sought to veer her mind from thoughts that summoned her melancholy, but it seemed that everywhere she looked, a memory was brought forth: on that side, see, was the garden path they frequented; over there was the log where once he told her of his childhood; that tree right there was one he climbed to gallantly rescue her bonnet that was blown off her head by a gust of wind. Even here inside the house, she remembered him sitting on that chair, posing for one of her sister Catherine's paintings - and over on that sofa, he once furtively took her hand and quickly but tenderly brought it to his lips before anyone saw.

Jane remembered all these moments ... and her heart screamed in pain. She could not keep back her quiet tears as she dropped her wobbling frame on the sofa.

What lovely comfort came from tender arms that encircled her! For once Jane did not resist, nor school her features into their habitual placid form, but laid her head on the welcoming bosom that cradled her and openly wept.

"Mama ... I hurt," she sobbed into her mother's breast.

"I know," was the reply.

And silence. They sat there, cuddled and unspeaking, allowing the darkness to wrap them. How long they did so they could not tell, although at some point, Mrs. Bennet started to fidget a little, as it was unnatural for her to be unmoving for so long (and Jane actually giggled at the sweet familiarity of it) ... until one distinguishable sound broke the silence. Horses and a carriage? Someone had come at a strange hour.

"Who in heaven's name could that be?" queried Mrs. Bennet, as she and Jane stood to straighten their clothing and fix their hair as best they could, and lit a few lamps in the room. When the butler came with an announcement, Jane and Mrs. Bennet could only exchange glances in surprise.

"A Mrs. Hannah Collins of Birmingham, madam ... she insists it is urgent."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: For those who came late to the story - or have forgotten a few chapters back - we first meet Hannah Collins in Chapter 10, and then she was again briefly mentioned in Chap 11 and 12. Just refreshing your memory. :)<strong>


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